


Watch Your Mouth

by idkdestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ahh that's enough, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ayy!, Barebacking, Bottom Cas, Bottom Dean, Coming Untouched, Denial of Feelings, Destiel - Freeform, Does that make me a good person?, Dom Castiel, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Violence, Dry Humping, Dub-Con in chapter 1, Eventual Top Dean, Face-Fucking, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I love him, I remembered Adam, I'm sorry for the depressing tags, Jamie - Freeform, Just casually adding more smutty tags, Light Angst, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, OOC Cas and Dean, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rimming, Self-Harm, Seriously it's Jamie all over, Sexting, Smut, Student Dean, Sub Dean, Suicide Attempt, Teacher Castiel, There's also facials, Top Castiel, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-03 10:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 145,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1741544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idkdestiel/pseuds/idkdestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dom-Sub relationship Dean Winchester nearly slips into with his Art History teacher Castiel Novak because of his rather miserable grades becomes something more for both when there's feelings involved. The relationship they establish, however, is threatened not only by Dean's homophobic father, but also his family breaking apart piece by piece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strip

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fanfiction and I'd really appreciate comments on what I could do better next time. So..uh, shall we? c:

 

_The wind is swaying the leaves, ripping some of them from the branches they cling to and lets them float in the summer breeze. Inside the Impala it's hot and Dean moves the windows down. He's always loved the road, wind in his hair, listening to classic rock and just driving._  
  
 _Driving away from his problems. His dad, who's always drunk, almost burned down the entire living room by leaving a smoldering cigarette on the table the other day._  
 _His little brother, Sammy, who wants to go to college. Honestly, Dean has no fucking idea how to pay for it._  
 _School. His grades in Art History. The lack of sleep due to shifts at the bar he works at._ _And of course his..-_

"Mr. Winchester!"  
Dean jumps as his teacher slams his hands on the desk, his head still spinning. Slowly, he can focus on the man standing right in fornt of him. His teacher's brows are furrowed and his lips pressed into a hard line. He must have fallen asleep in class. Again.  
Mr. Novak doesn't seem amused and Dean rubs his neck awkwardly, waiting for the other man to make a comment, like he always does.  
  
"Dreaming in class, are we, Mr. Winchester?" he finally says, his voice rough. Dean widens his eyes and quickly tries to pull himself together, even though the sparkling in his teacher's eyes is pretty distracting. It's like Dean noticed just now how blue they are. Instead of apologizing, he leans back in his seat and gives Mr. Novak a cocky smirk. "Well, yeah, it's boring enough to fall asleep."  
  
His teacher narrows his eyes. These beautiful eyes.  
  
"Watch your mouth, Mr. Winchester."  
  
His voice was barely more than a whisper, but it's enough to send chills down Dean's spine and he lowers his head quickly to hide the faint blush on his cheeks. "Yes, sir."  
  
Mr. Novak lets his eyes linger on Dean longer than usual, then turns around to continue writing things on the blackboard. Dean thinks they're talking about Picasso or something, but he cant' be too sure. He runs a hand through his hair.   
Maybe paying attention would be easier if the teacher wasn't so damn distracting.   
  
It’s not like he had a crush on his teacher. Of course not. At least that’s what he keeps telling himself.  
  
Dean is more than grateful to hear the familiar ring of the bell. He quickly gathers his stuff and wants to rush out of the classroom, like always, but Mr. Novak stares at him. "What?"  
"To my office, Mr. Winchester, we need to talk."  
  
All of a sudden, Dean's throat is dry and he widens his eyes. "What? Why?"  
  
"We need to discuss your grades."  
  
"Why? My grades are okay," Dean exclaims.  
  
"Not in my class."  
  
 _That's cause you're a fucking dick._ "Oh?"  
His teacher rolls his eyes, grabs his messenger bag and gestures Dean to follow him to his office.   
  
"Your first name is Castiel?" Dean glares at the tiny nameplate on the door. "Seriously?  _Castiel?"  
_  
Without responding, Castiel Novak unlocks the door and pushes it open.   
"After you," he says and Dean believes to hear a smile in his voice. Inside the room, he sits down on the chair in front of Mr. Novak's desk.  
  
"So, uh, what's the matter?"  
  
His teacher flips open a folder and pulls out a sheet of paper, then passes it to Dean. "See? If you don't start working on your attitude and behavior during my class you're not gonna pass."  
Dean almost gasps. Not passing. Not. Fucking. Passing. He can't let that happen. He'd disappointed his dad way too often and for once he wants him to be proud of Dean.  
  
His voice is quiet, almost shy as he dares to speak again. "W-what can I do...there's not that much time for me to fix things."  
  
"Actually, I don't really see any way for you to pass, Mr. Winchester."  
  
Dean stares down at his lap for a second before looking back up to his teacher, his green eyes wide and his long, dark lashes perfectly framing them. He's tucked his bottom lip between his teeth and smiles ever so innocently.   
"Please, sir?"  
  
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat and nearly regrets giving his teacher that kind of look as a mischievous grin runs over Castiel's face. He laces his slim fingers together and rests his chin on top of it, tipping his head slightly to the left. "I can think of some...ways you could improve your grades."  
  
Dean's jaw nearly drops.  
  
No way. No  _fucking_ way. There's definitely no way Dean would play his teacher's slut or whatever.   
  
Sure, Mr. Novak is more than attractive and everything, but still.  
  
He clears his throat. "What do you mean by that?"  
"You're going to be my submissive." Castiel raises a hand to prevent Dean from interrupting him. "In exchange, you'll get an A in Art History."  
  
"Sub..missive." Dean's voice sounds rather broken. "Yes, Dean."  
  
His head jerks up as his teacher uses his first name instead of his surname like he used to. Dean buries his face in his hands. He can't fucking believe he's even considering this. This is fucked up. He can't do this. There's no way.  
But he can't fail either. He needs to make a decision.  
  
As he looks up, Castiel's waiting patiently for his student to speak. "I - I uhm," Dean stutters.  
  
The other man's face softens a little. "You don't have to worry, I have no intentions in hurting you."  _Really? Are you kidding me? You want me to be your submissive, but you're not gonna hurt me? That's not how it fucking works._ _  
  
_He thinks about standing up, leaving the office as quickly as possible, but he doesn't. His legs won't move, they feel like jelly. _Fuck._  
  
 _I want this. I kinda do. I want him. But he will hurt me, everyone does. But he said he won’t...is he lying?_  
  
"Okay."  
  
Mr. Novak raises an eyebrow at him. "Okay? Just like that, Mr. Winchester? That's kind of a surprise." He stands up, slowly, as though considering every single movement. He trails a finger up to Dean's chin and tilts it up, so he has to face him. Dean looks at him, wide-eyed and a scared expression on his face. As he brushes his thumb across his cheek, Dean squeezes his eyes shut and curls his fingers against the fabric of his jeans.  
  
Inside of Deans head there's gotta be billions of thoughts in that moment.  _What is he gonna do? Is he going to kiss me? This doesn't feel to bad. But he's my fucking teacher. My._   _ **Teacher**_.  _  
  
_ Of course Dean doesn’t mention that he’s a virgin. Not a virgin in general, but he’s never been with a guy before. He did have a crush on this really cute guy from the bar, but...it was just a crush.  
  
A small noise escapes from Dean's lips, barely more than a whimper, but Castiel notices and pulls his hand back.  
  
He stares down at Dean, his blue eyes meeting Dean's green ones once more. The breath hitches in Dean's throat and he can feel his heart beating a little too fast. In the next second, he's pulled up by Castiel, his arms around Dean's waist, pressing the younger man against him, his lips meeting his student's.  
  
The kiss takes Dean's breath away.  
  
For a blink, he relaxes into the kiss, hell, he even enjoys it. When Castiel pulls back, Dean’s lips are burning, his cheeks flushed brightly and his jeans too tight. The corners of his teacher's mouth quirk up into a smile and he squirms under the intense stare.  
  
"Strip."  
  
The order hits him completely off guard and he's sure he must have misheard. "What?"  
  
"I said, strip, Dean." Castiel’s voice is cold, the kindness literally erased. "Do as I say, will you?" And, to his own surprise, Dean does.  
  
His shaking fingers reach to unbutton his shirt and as it drops to the floor, Mr. Novak nods approvingly as though he'd like Dean to keep going. Dean bites his lip, while fumbling with his belt.  
  
It obviously takes him too long to unbuckle the damn thing because he can hear his teacher tsking at him and for some odd reason he doesn't really understand, he hurries and finally kicks off his shoes to take off his pants as well.  
  
"So good for me, aren't you?" Castiel's voice is teasing now, sending shivers down Dean's spine and through his stomach.  Dean clenches his hands into fists.  
  
"I expect you to answer me."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Yes what?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Dean presses out, which seems to please Castiel who traces Dean's lips with his thumb.  
  
The office isn't heated and Dean's only left with his boxer briefs and he has to admit it's quite cold in here. "Are you freezing?" He has to think a second before he replies. "Yes, sir, I am."  
  
"I'm sure I can help you with that."  
  
One second Dean's standing in front of his teacher, staring down at his feet, the next he finds himself pressed up against the wall, his arms pinned above his head. The second kiss is slightly different from the first, it's more intense, filled with need and desire.  
  
Gasping, Dean tries to pull away, but his teacher doesn't let him. He starts trailing kisses down Dean's neck, instead, and nips lightly on the sensitive skin.  
  
Castiel reaches out to close the blinds and lock the door.  _Shit._ "I-i need to go to -ah!" Dean almost squeaks as the other man pinches his nipple. Reflexively, Dean cups his lips so he won't make another noise. He can't believe he actually..kind of...likes this?  
  
He only feels Castiel's fingertips running down his stomach as it’s too late for him to react. Castiel slips his fingers in the rim of Dean’s boxers, slowly pulling them down over his knees and they pool at the floor.  
  
His teacher trails featherlight kisses down his thighs, then back up, while kneeling down in front of him, making Dean shiver.

By the time Dean is completely naked, he’s already half-hard and his breath unsteady. As Catiel’s lips wrap over the tip of his cock, he lets out a muffled moan. “Don’t make a noise,"  Castiel mumbles. Dean nods obediently and mentally prepares himself.  
  
But no matter what he’d expected, when Castiel lowers his head more and takes Dean down in almost one go, he gasps loudly.  
  
 _Holy fucking hell.  
  
_ Castiel swirls his tongue around the tip, licking the slit and swallowing the precome leaking from the head. Dean tips his head back, biting his lip harshly.  
  
 _FUCK._  
  
In no time Castiel, bobbing his head and deepthroating Dean’s entire length, has his student on the edge. “Don’t come.”  
Dean, still trying his best not to make a sound, bites his own forearm, moaning around it. “P-please," he chokes out.

The kneeling man in front of him pushes his legs wider apart in response and keeps on sucking. Dean whines, his legs actually shaking. He needs the release. His cock is aching and twitches whenever Castiel pulls away to catch his breath.  
  
“I-i need to- _oh fuck!_ ” Dean cries out as Castiel scrapes his teeth against his cock. “I said, keep quiet," Castiel murmurs as he pulls away.  
  
He gives Dean a few strokes, watching his face tense in ecstasy and desperation as he struggles to keep his voice under control.  
  
“Come for me, Dean.”  
  
And Dean does. He explodes around his teacher, his load splattering across Castiel’s face and the floor. For a second Dean thinks he’s gonna black out, feeling the heat rushing to his face, lighting up his cheeks.  
  
He slumps down, against the wall and rests his forehead on his trembling knees.  
  
 _What did just happen? Oh god._  
Castiel wipes his face with his palm, then licks off Dean’s come. Dean swallows, blushing, and has to admit this was literally the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

He’s still breathing hard as Castiel gets up and walks over to the door. “Didn’t I say I wasn’t gonna hurt you, Mr. Winchester?”  
  
“Mr. Novak.." Dean manages to say, but the other man’s already unlocked the door again. “I’ll see you after school. At the entrance.”  
  
With that, he walks out the door, leaving a naked, trembling and totally confused Dean behind.


	2. Desperation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the next chapter already c:

After getting dressed as quickly as his trembling fingers had allowed, Dean rushes to his next class he should’ve been to 15 minutes ago.  
He cards a hand through his hair before knocking on the door.  
  
“Mr. Winchester”, his teacher, an elderly Hispanic woman, says as Dean steps in.  
  
“Yeah, sorry, I’m late.”  
  
“I can see that. Would you like to tell me why?”  
  
“Because uh-,“ Dean flushes at the memory, “I got caught up with Mr. Novak, he called me to his office.”  
  
She raises an eyebrow at him, but gestures him to take a seat. Dean sits down next to a blonde girl he knows from Art History. She glances over at him and tries to bite her lip seductively.  
  
Dean just pretends he didn’t see her. The blonde flips her long hair, a few strands hitting Dean’s cheek, and turns away.  
  
 _I need to keep my feelings under control. If he actually wants this, I can’t get attached. Come on, Dean.  
  
_ Dean’s unable to focus on any of his other classes. When he finally can go home, he almost skips towards the entrance.  
  
And there he is. Dean can see his brown trenchcoat from the hallway and allows himself to rake his eyes over Mr. Novak...Castiel.  
  
His dark hair is a beautiful, perfect mess on his head. His slender fingers are wrapped around a coffee-to-go-cup he lifts to his mouth every now and then. His lips are a soft pink and he licks across them every time he puts the cup down.  
  
He has his messenger bag on his shoulder, tugging on his grey sweater and exposing his collarbone. The newspaper in his hands – and Dean can’t help but let his eyes linger on them because, damn, they’re really nice hands – draws all of Castiel’s attention in and Dean notices how much he craves that attention.  
  
As his teacher looks up, his eyes, skimming through the crowd of students, meet Dean’s. For a few seconds it feels like they’re in a seperated bubble and nothing can touch them or the undeniable tension between them.  
  
Not until Darren, a footballer Dean assumes, grabs Dean by his shoulders and forces him backwards against the lockers. “Hey, what the fuck, man?”  
  
Dean sounds more annoyed than scared while Darren rests both his hands beneath Dean’s head. “Fucking pervert”, he hisses.  
  
Thinking about what this could be all about, Dean frowns. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”  
“Man, I actually don’t –“ He’s cut off by Darren pushing him again, his head meeting the steel of the door of the locker.  
  
“Why the fucking hell did you touch my _girlfriend?_ Huh?”  
  
 _Girlfriend? What? Who the hell is he talking about?  
  
_ Dean rubs the back of his head and sighs. “Look, I don’t have any idea who your girlfriend is and besides I’m not looking, okay, man?”  
  
He’s about to say something like “Now get the fuck out of my way” or “Excuse me, I need to go now” since Darren his really fucking tall as he sees the blonde girl from Spanish peeking around the corner.  
  
 _Ugh.  
  
_ Rolling his eyes, Dean lifts his arm to point over at her. “Is _that_ your girlfriend maybe?”  
“Yeah, exactly.”  
  
Dean only sighs again and shakes his head. “Yeah, no. I didn’t touch her.”  
  
 _Mostly because I’m into my fucking teacher who wants me to be his submissive and I have no clue if I can do this without falling even more for him.  
  
_ But Dean doesn’t mention any of his thoughts. The girl lets her lower lip tremble and her eyes start to water. He’s more than tempted to let a mean commment slip, but he turns away and starts to walk away. He already is late and he definitely doesn’t want to let Castiel wait any longer.  
  
His stomach makes a weird little jump in anticipation.  
  
Something brushes his arm and he hears someone curse loudly. He turns around and finds himself staring at Castiel, catching Darren’s fist only mere inches away from Dean’s neck.  
  
Dean widens his eyes. “Thank you”, he mumbles, but isn’t even noticed.  
  
“I don’t ever want to see you try this again, Mr. Richardson.” Castiel’s voice is hard and strict. Darren even lowers his head and nods, mumbling an apology before turning his back to the teacher.  
“Are you alright?”, Castiel asks.  
  
“Yeah, thanks again.”  
  
His teacher grabs him by his shoulder and tugs him towards the entrance and outside. He guides Dean around the corner, to the yard and gives him a gentle push until Dean’s back is against the wall.  
  
“Come to this address at 5, I expect you to be on time. We’ll discuss everything else there.” With that, he slips a small, folded note into Dean’s jeans pocket.  
  
“This sounds like the beginning of the worst porno ever.” Dean tries to give the older man a smirk, but he’s pretty sure he fails terribly.  
  
His fingers itch and he really wants to open the note, see Castiel’s handwriting, just cling to something, anything. His inner self shakes his head of how childish he’s acting, but nobody has to know how he really feels about this.  
  
Castiel chuckles and turns around, shoving his hands in the pockets of his trenchcoat. “I’ll see you at 5, Mr. Winchester.”  
  
Dean almost is disappointed. That’s it? He shakes his head and walks over to his car, replaying all the things Castiel had said to him that day in his head, and hums quietly. He’s actually looking forward to meet Castiel.  
  
As soon as he gets home, he goes straight into his room and throws his bag into a corner. Dean sits down on his bed and has to inhale deeply before pulling out the tiny piece of paper and unfolding it.  
  
 **173 Garson’s Creek, the cabin beneath the willows.  
  
** Dean stares at the neat handwriting. _Cabin? Who the hell owns a cabin in the woods? Except for rapists and psychopaths.  
  
_ He glances over at the clock. It’s only 3 and he has to waste another hour and a half until he can drive to the cabin. So Dean decides to take a shower.  
  
He takes an unusual long amount of time to pick clothes. In the end he gives up and simply puts on jeans and a Kansas shirt. Dean drums his fingers on his desk, trying to figure out what Castiel might want to talk about. Conditions? A contract maybe?  
  
Dean decides to drive to this stupid cabin, so he’d be there earlier than expected. Just in case he might not find it on the first view.  
  
He moves the windows halfway down and the wind messes up his hair, not that it would make a huge difference, but Dean huffs in annoyance. He wants to look good.  
  
The time passes by way too fast. He can’t force himself to get out of the car, to leave his safe space. He’s scared he might get into something that only will hurt him, something that might break him. But he walks up to the cabin anyway.  
  
He waits in front of the wooden door until the clock on his phone jumps to 5:00 pm. Hesitantly, he raises a fist and knocks. Once. Twice. No reaction.  
Dean frowns. He didn’t expect Castiel to be late.  
  
The door swings open on the third knock.  
  
An exhausted-looking Castiel opens the door and actually blushes as he faces Dean. “One more minute,” he says, closes the door again and Dean can hear him shifting things inside the cabin.  
  
He also hears the flap of something being thrown, but there is no sound of it meeting the ground again. Dean begins to wonder what’s expecting him.  
  
Before he can worry too much, Castiel opens the door again and smiles slightly. “Come on in, Dean.”  
  
Hesitantly, Dean steps in and lets his eyes wander through the room. It’s larger than Dean had expected it to be, with wooden walls and stairs, leading to the next floor. There’s a bed on the left side of the room.  
  
All in all, everything, the bed, the couple of boxes and even – Dean widens his eyes – the leather cuffs hanging from the wall, looks rather expensive.  
  
“Kinky ass bastard,” Dean mumbles to himself.  
  
 _He’s done this before, obviously._ Dean doesn’t really know why this bothers him so much.  
  
Something huge, rectangular is covered by a cloth. Dean reaches out to pull it down, he’s more than curious what’s hidden behind this ridiculously thin material. Castiel grabs his hand firmly in his own, stopping him from whatever he thought Dean was going to do.  
  
Without saying a word, Castiel leads Dean through a door in the back of the room Dean hadn’t noticed. Behind it, there’s a small office with barely enough space to fit in a desk and two chairs.  
  
They sit down and for a while there’s an awkward silence. “So, you’re here.”  
“Obviously,” Dean says.  
  
The hint of a smile traces Castiel’s lips. “Good.”  
  
“Excuse me, but what is this here?” Dean waves his hands vaguely at all the stuff in the room behind them.  
  
Castiel blushes again and scratches the back of his neck while pretending to go through his drawers. “Uh, well, you seem pretty surprised. I assume you’ve never subbed before?”  
  
 _Damn fucking bastard. Why did you have to switch topics?  
  
_ “No, I haven’t.”  
  
It’s weird for Dean to see his teacher outside of school. He sees him as a person now.  
  
“That won’t be a problem,” Castiel assures, pulling out a few papers.  
“Wait, what’s that?”  
  
“I thought it would be good to set your limits.”  
  
 _Limits? Oh god.  
  
_ As weird as the whole thing is, Dean can’t deny it also is hot as fuck. He grits his teeth.  
“What kind of limits?”  
  
“How far we can go. It’s important that both parts are happy with the whole dom-sub relationship.”  
  
Dean flashes a mocking grin. “I don’t need any limits.”  
  
“Dean-“  
“Look, uh, Mr. Novak, I have no idea what my limits are. I’m rather unexperienced,” Dean starts babbling.  
  
“You can call me Cas, if you’d like to. Mr. Novak makes me feel weird since we’re not at school. And, unexperienced?”  
  
Dean swallows. He licks across his dry lips several times, then says very quietly. “I’ve never done this with a guy.”  
  
Castiel’s eyes sweep up from the papers he’s been going through. “What?”  
  
He gets up slowly, a concerned expression on his face. “And you agreed to this just like that?” Dean nods.  
  
As Castiel approaches Dean, he feels his stomach twisting and his throat tightening.  
 _He’s gonna tell me to leave. He doesn’t want me.  
  
_ Cas cocks his head to one side. “And you still are willing to agree to this?” Another nod.  
Dean shifts in his seat, awkwardly trying to stop his growing erection from tenting his pants. He can’t help but imagine all the things Cas might do to him.  
  
Cas holds out his hand. Dean looks up at the other man in confusion. “Don’t ask, just try and let it happen.” So he grabs Cas’ hand.  
  
He guides him back into the larger room, then, suddenly, starts kissing him.  
  
He starts off with soft, almost shy kisses around his mouth. Then he moves his lips over Dean’s cheek, down to his neck. Dean closes his eyes as Cas presses open mouthed kisses to his skin, sucking on it. Not long enough to leave a hickey, but it’s enough to make Dean shiver.  
Cas snakes an arm around Dean’s waist, drawing him closer in and smashes their lips together. The kiss is different from anything Dean had ever experienced.  
It’s full of longing and he can feel his heart beating a little too fast against his ribcage and wonders if Castiel can feel it too.  
  
He’s pressed up against Cas as close as possible, but he feels so distant. He needs more. Desperately.  
  
Castiel licks across Dean’s damp lips as though asking for entrance and Dean is more than willing to seperate his lips. Cas easily wins dominance over the kiss, his tongue exploring Dean’s mouth.  
  
Dean thinks Castiel tastes better than any pie.  
  
He presses even closer against Cas and makes a small noise in the back of his throat. It sounds like a stifled moan. As they pull away, both of them are breathing hard.  
  
Castiel looks back at Dean, his eyes hungry and his pupils blown. Dean whimpers, his fingers clutching at Cas’ shirt and his voice shaking. “I need more, please.”  
  
In one quick movement, Cas has him close to the bed and the edge of it presses against Dean’s knee bend and he falls back onto the mattress. Their lips are locked together again, none of them wanting to pull away first.  
  
It’s Dean who has to break away.  
  
“What did you want to discuss by the way?” His breath comes in shallow, brief pants.  
  
“That can wait,” Castiel mutters, his lips hovering above Dean’s, his hands sliding up Dean’s chest.  
  
He pushes Dean’s shirt up, tugs it over his head and throws it aside. Dean’s laying on his back with Castiel on top of him, straddling him and now leaning down to lick his nipple.  
  
Dean can’t help but let out a small gasp while Castiel moves to the other nipple, gently tugging on the small, pink bud.  
  
With an arch of his back, Dean brings his and Cas’ body closer together. Warm lips caress Dean’s nipples over and over again, tugging, nibbling, kissing.  
  
Dean moans, half in pain, half in pleasure and attempts to grind up against Castiel, needy for friction.  
  
Castiel nips on the oversensitive skin, licking across the abused flesh. He takes Dean’s pants off with a fluent movement of his hands. Dean closes his eyes. He wants Cas to stop teasing, to fucking _do_ something already because he wants it so badly.  
  
He needs it. Now.  
  
“Cas,” he whispers weakly against Castiel’s shoulder.  
  
Castiel gets off Deans waist, sitting down beside him. “On your hands and knees.”  
  
Dean is eager to obey and almost falls off the bed, trying to get into the demanded position. Exposed like that, he’s ashamed.  
  
Not long after he’d positioned himself, his boxers come off, Castiel’s fingertips a maddening tease on his thighs.  
  
Dean had seen enough porn in his life to guess what Cas wants, so he lowers his head, resting it on the pillow and stretches his ass up in the air, towards Castiel. In return he gets a consenting hum.  
  
A bottle clicks behind him. Before Dean can ask what Cas is doing behind his back, a lube slick finger circles the ring of tight muscles between his ass cheeks. Dean flinches startled.  
  
“Are you sure about this, Dean?”  
  
Dean doesn’t trust his own voice that moment, so he just nods. Castiel pushes one finger inside Dean to the first knuckle. A sharp pain runs up Dean’s spine and he jerks. The other man gives him time to let the finger adjust, before pushing it deeper in.  
  
This time it’s more pleasant.  
  
Picking up a lazy, slow pace, Castiel pumps in and out of Dean. At some point, he crooks his finger and drags it across Deans prostate.  
  
A jolt of pleasure sparks through Dean and he moans, burying his face in the pillow. “Oh fuck, Cas.”  
  
“You like that, don’t you?”  
  
Dean lets out a small sob as Cas continues stroking the bundle of nerves torturously slow. He rocks back against Castiel’s finger, blushing of how much he likes this. Two fingers are enough to get Dean to make the most pathetic sounds he’s ever made.  
  
“Good boy, Dean.” Cas’ voice is soft, almost loving.  
  
Gently scissoring him, Castiel bends over Dean to kiss across his shoulders and down his spine. Dean is a quivering mess underneath him and honestly, he looks beautiful like this.  
  
Dean wonders how Cas had managed to undress himself without Dean noticing it, but Dean doesn’t care too much.  
  
His mouth hangs opens, his fingers clenched around the sheets and his lips are covered in his own saliva. Castiel slides a finger inside Dean’s warm, wet mouth. “Suck.”  
  
Dean tries to focus on paying attention to Castiel’s finger in his mouth, but the two fingers inside him, constantly rubbing across his prostate aren’t really helping. He moans around Cas’ finger and shudders as he withdraws it from Dean’s mouth.  
  
“Cas, please.”  
  
He barely recognizes his own voice, he sounds wrecked. Kind of weird how Cas can make him lose his mind with just two fingers.  
  
His knees can’t afford the strength to hold his body up anymore and he drops onto the mattress, his fully erect cock painfully brushing against the fabric of the sheets.  
  
Dean tries desperately to suffocate the sobs and whimpers coming from his throat.  
  
As he turns his head into an awkward angle to look at Castiel, Cas pulls his fingers out of Dean, his other hand jerking up and down his own shaft, spreading lube over it.  
  
With gentle hands, Castiel flips Dean, who is blushing pretty badly, on his back. Dean’s leaking cock slaps against his stomach and brings him even closer to his orgasm. Cas lifts Dean’s legs up, placing his calves over his shoulders and leans down to pepper Dean’s throat with chaste kisses.  
  
Dean makes a pityful noise, his chest heaving under long intakes of breath as Cas reaches over to the nightstand.  
  
 _More lube?  
  
_ It turns out to be a condom. Castiel rips the foil packet open and slowly rolls it over his erection, teasing himself. He reaches down again to check if Dean’s stretched out enough.  
  
His hole is red, a little puffy and slick from the lube. Dean’s head is turned to the side, his cheeks flushed and he whimpers desperately under the soft pressure of Castiel’s fingers on his hole.  
  
After positioning himself, Castiel slowly pushes the tip of his cock into him to see how he takes it. Dean bites out a moan and opens his eyes, looking at Cas through a blurry view. His eyes are watering.  
  
“Are you sure you can take it, Dean?” Castiel asks, his voice hoarse and his arousal actually audible.  
  
“Y-yes, I – _ah fuck,”_ he cries out as Cas suddenly thrusts all the way in, nailing his prostate instantly. Dean has to take a few shaking breaths. He feels so fucking filled up. And it feels too fucking good.  
  
Under small gasps he stretches up to steal a kiss from Castiel’s lips, though he knows this might be stupid, that it might make everything worse.  
  
Soon they fall into a steady rhythm that makes Dean feel lightheaded and he gasps underneath Cas who’s still pounding into him. Cas moves his hips in a different angle now and makes sure to hammer into Dean’s prostate.  
  
Between moans and whimpers that might or might not be Castiel’s name, Dean squirms in order to free his cock from being pressed up between both their stomachs. It’s swollen and red, precome leaking from the tip, and hurts.  
  
Castiel above him grasps his thighs tighter and curls the fingers of his right hand around Dean’s twitching cock. With his eyes closed, he drives both of them closer and closer to the edge.  
  
As Castiel comes, Dean starts crying silently.  
  
Not because it hurts, but because he knows he shouldn’t feel this way about Cas, his teacher. He knows that what he’s doing will hurt him in the end and he also knows that the butterflies he feels fluttering around in his stomach aren’t mutual. So he puts his hand over his eyes and his sobs are swallowed by Cas’ guttural moans and his own gasps as he finally get the release from a firm stroke of Castiel’s oh so wonderful hand with a little twist at the end.  
  
Castiel’s hand strokes him through the spasms of his orgasm and he wants to cling to the feeling of being full and so goddamn empty at the same time.  
A warm, sweaty forehead leans down and rests on Dean’s own. He can feel Cas breathing against his lips.  
Dean swallows, then almost shoves Castiel off.  
  
“Dean?” Castiel widens his eyes as he pulls out of Dean. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”  
  
The shocked expression on Cas’ face makes Dean’s insides quiver and he shakes his head violently before Cas can notice his tear-stained cheeks. “It was just. I just. I mean you know,” he stutters.  
  
Smiling, Castiel gets up and leans down to peck Dean’s lips. “I’m going to clean you up, alright? Just wait here.”  
  
He walks over to another hidden door right beneath the stairs and enters a small bathroom. Castiel pours lukewarm water on a washcloth, after carding a hand through his just fucked hair, and wrings it out before returning to the bed.  
  
He drops the wet cloth.  
  
The bed is empty, Dean’s gone.


	3. Fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit different (Cas' POV) from the previous two. I hope you like it anyway.

The next day, Dean's missing at school.  
  
He doesn't show up the day after that, and the day after that. It goes on like this for the rest of the week.   
  
Every day, Castiel enters the class room and knows exactly what he'd say if Dean were to come back to his class...or any class. He'd prepared the words each morning in front of the mirror.  
  
( _Dean, I'm sorry for whatever I did wrong. We should probably talk about it, I'm very sorry if I intimidated you, really._ and  _Talk to me, Dean, we can work this out._ and  _Please, Dean, I need to know what you're thinking. What you're feeling._ )  
  
Hell, he'd even worked on his facial expressions for this talk!  
  
He came to the conclusion that his eyebrows raised in concern would be the most fitting face he could possibly pull. But that's all irrelevant since there's no Dean he can use his face on.  
  
So he lets his eyes wander through the room, every time he steps into the class. And he gets disappointed every time. There's no green, wide eyes staring up at him, there's no freckled cheeks blushing whenever he'd talk.  
  
There's not even an absence note.  
  
Castiel sighs dejectedly as he gets home on Friday. No Dean that day either.  
  
He starts to think about calling him, but Dean could hang up since he obviously is avoiding him. He could visit...no. No, he can't. Castiel puts his head in his hands and rocks back and forth on his bed. What is this boy doing to him?   
  
Probably Dean backed out because he figured he didn't like it or because Cas still is his teacher. Maybe because he was just messing around anyway?  
  
But Castiel  _knows_ that if Dean wouldn't be attracted to him at least a tiny, tiny bit, he wouldn't have gasped out Cas' name whenever the pleasure rushed through his body.   
Then the sudden realiztion hits him like a truck. It was just for his grades obviously.  
  
No. He needs to talk to Dean.  
  
But maybe Dean's sick, or not even home. Castiel feels like ripping his hair out.   
  
The phone is still laying on his lap. He dials Dean's number and lifts the phone up to his ear. His breath is hot against the cool plastic of the phone and soon he feels like suffocating from the heat that literally came out of nowhere.  
  
"This is Dean Winchester -"  
  
"Dean, hey, uh, this is Cas..Castiel."  
  
"-leave a message." It klicks. The voicemail. The  _fucking_ voicemail.  
  
Castiel lets out a frustrated groan and tosses the phone across the room. It hits the wall and lands with a quiet thud on the couch.   
  
He decides to wait until next Monday to do something.  
  
It's just after his class ends, Dean of course not present, that he goes to the principal's office. A low voice allows him to come in.  
  
"Mr. Novak, it's a pleasure to see you, we didn't get to see each other lately, huh?" Mr. Crowley greets him. Castiel only gives him a brief nod.  
  
"I uh I'm not feeling well, I'm gonna head home, I just thought I was gonna inform you, sir," he mutters then. Crowley's eyebrows rise in surprise. "Oh alright, get well, then."  
  
Cas turns on his heel, pretends to stagger out of the door while holding his head as though he was having a really bad headache and walks around the corner. As soon as he's out of his supervisor's field of vision, he shakes his head, an amused grin on his lips, and hurries out to the parking space.  
  
He's about to turn on the engine as he notices he doesn't even know where Dean's living. Grumbling, he pulls out his agenda and flips it open to the pages with his students' personal informations.   
It had to be somewhere here.  
  
 _Dean Winchester  
311 Oak Tree Lane  
  
_ A deep sigh escapes from Castiel's lips. What the fucking hell is he getting himself into?  
The door mirror on the left side of his car hangs loose and Cas thinks about fixing it instead of driving to Dean's place. It's more than tempting.  
  
Eventually, he decides that - screw the damn door mirror and all the other tiny flaws on the car Cas could fix right now - Dean is more important.  
He always will be. Snorting at that thought, he pushes down on the gas pedal.  
  
It doesn't take him long to find the small, but very domestic looking house, though Castiel missed the entrance to the pretty narrow street at first and questioned his sense of orientation.  
He takes a moment to notice that the paint on the blinds is peeling off and the front garden isn't accurately trimmed like his own, it's rather messy. A few knocked over lawn gnomes are laying here and there and a rusty shovel is poked into the earth next to a flower pot with nothing but a dry pile of flower soil inside it.   
  
Castiel smiles at the view.   
Though it looks kind of untidy, he's sure that Dean doesn't want his home to be perfectly cliché-like. It's an organized chaos. Just like...he doesn't finish his thought.  
  
He quickly glances down at the door mirror and thinks once more that objects are so much easier to fix than people. But then again he thinks that certain people are worth to spend a long time on, to unravel them, to expose all their flaws and imperfections and to appreciate every shared secret.  
  
He groans quietly. This isn't getting him anywhere, really.   
  
As he walks up the uneven path to the front door, the gravel under his shoes crunches. It's quite an annoying sound and he's ridiculously relieved when he finally stands close enough to the door to knock.  
  
In the very last moment, he hesitates.  
  
Now, he could still turn around, pretend he'd never been here, leave Dean alone (Which he obviously wants to be. It's even more obvious that he doesn't want to see Castiel in particular.) and keep both of them out of the disaster he's driving them into with considering knocking.  
  
The door's only a few inches away, the wood looking oddly inviting and Castiel shouldn't be that nervous; he's more than well aware of that.  
  
Inside the house there's no lights turned on. If Castiel is lucky, no one will be home. If he's not...he actually doesn't know what will happen then.  
  
Maybe Dean won't even open the door. Maybe - he frowns at the thought - Dean will tell him to fuck off. And maybe, maybe, he'll agree to talk about everything, but there's a nagging twist in his stomach telling that he probably won't.  
  
Suddenly he feels like his tie is choking him, he starts to gasp for breath and even has to rest his hand on the door frame and to bend over slightly, coughing his lungs out as quietly as possible.  
There still might be someone around if not inside the house.   
  
He wipes the back of his hand across his forehead and takes a deep breath.  
  
His fist meets the wood and the thunk sounds out of place. It doesn't belong there that exact moment, it just doesn't.  
  
No reaction. He doesn't hear the padding of feet on linoleum or whatever carpet the Winchesters are using, there also is no rattling of blinds for a sign that someone was looking at him from a hiding space.  
  
He's about to turn around and walk away, half relieved, half disappointed as the door flies open with a creak.  
  
Dean looks terrible.  
  
His eyes are red and puffy, his hair pointing in all directions. Under other conditions Cas might have dropped a comment on how good Dean looks with a bedhead, but all he can do is stare.  
  
Dean squints at him or at the sunlight illuminating the tips of his incredibly long eye lashes. Castiel isn't entirely sure.  
  
"Get lost."  
  
His voice is rough and cold, but the slur in it ruins the effect. He's drunk.   
  
"Dean."  
  
"Cas."  
  
"Look, Dean, I-"  
  
"Cas. I said. Get. Lost." The words are even through gritted teeth and the slur in his voice clearly audible.  
  
Castiel cringes.  
  
Dean takes a step forward, stretching out his arms as though he is going to hug Castiel, but he gives him a firm push against his shoulders.  
  
"Are you deaf, man? Get off my lot already." The boundaries between them as student and teacher seem to have vanished.  
  
"Dean, have you been crying?" Castiel asks.  
  
He can see Dean's facial expression switch from angry to so incredibly sad, it makes a gush of nausea rush through Castiel's stomach. But before he can say anything, Dean goes back to angry.  
  
"I'm drunk, you smartass." He dodges the question. Castiel had expected him to, though.  
  
"Dean, may I come in?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Please, we could-"  
  
" _No._ "  
  
The rejection hurts more than Castiel would ever admit to anyone. It feels like a purposeful punch against his chest. Cas swallows several times, but the lump in his throat just won't disappear.  
  
"Dean, we need to talk."  
  
He doesn't get an answer. Dean's busy trying to get the dirt out from under his nails. His forehead is puckered as if he's very concentrated. The dirt must be so very interesting.  
  
"Dean, I'm serious."  
  
And Dean's very serious about cleaning his damn nails as it seems. He only stops to adjust his shirt. It's too big for Dean, the hem of it is about the level of Dean's thighs. He looks so young and vulnerable like this.  
  
Castiel feels the urge to protect him, but he's the one that hurt Dean in the first place.  
  
"Dean, I'm begging you."  
  
That gets Dean's attention and his cheeks flush pink. With an exasperated sigh he opens the door wider, revealing a kitchen just as messy as the front garden and gives Castiel a firm nod of his head.  
  
"Thank you." It's not typical for Castiel to do all the talking, but since Dean refuses to say anything it just has to work this way.  
  
There's a small pot of something delicious-smelling on the stove and Castiel goes for small-talk. "You cook?" A shrug of Dean's shoulders is all he gets. Alright, no small-talk then.  
  
"Your parents aren't home?" At that, Dean stiffens.  
  
"Mind your own business," he says flatly. Touchy topic as it seems. Fine.  
  
He wants to say the words he'd prepared almost a week ago, but they're vanished from his memory, the only thing left is  _Dean, please._  
  
So he says just that.  
  
The younger man turns around, his shoulders shaking from silent sobs, tears staining his cheeks and he opens his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a small croak.   
Unsure of what to do, Castiel just stands there and watches Dean's body temble as he's trying to stop the tears spilling from his eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry," Dean finally chokes out.  
  
Out of all the things Dean could have said, he says sorry?  _Sorry? What the hell could he possibly be sorry for?  
  
_ Castiel can't stand it anymore. He throws his arms around Dean and pulls him into a hug and for quite a while he's just standing there with a crying Dean in his arms until there are no tears left to shed.  
  
It's when Castiel reaches up to brush a few strands of Dean's hair away from his face that he makes contact with his skin. The heat radiating from Dean's body is no good sign. He lays his palm across Dean's forehead, getting a quiet noise of disapproval from Dean, and widens his eyes.  
  
"You have a fever."  
  
Dean wriggles out of Cas' arms. "Don't be silly, I don't get fevers," he explains. In an attempt to lean on the kitchen counter, Dean shifts his weight to his right foot.   
  
Unfortunately, though, Dean is drunk,  _does_ have a fever and miscalculated the distance to the counter and misses it for a few inches and lands on the ground instead. "Ow."  
A giggle slips from Dean's lips, then turns into a deep-throated laugh and ends with Dean passing out on the kitchen floor.  
  
So this is what Cas gets from trying to have a conversation. Great.  
  
Castiel crouches down to pick up Dean, who curls up against his chest the second he's in Cas' arms. The shirt has shifted and exposes Dean's hipbone. The skin around it has small, already faded bruises, looking like fingerprints. Cas widens his eyes, he doesn't remember adding  _that_ much pressure to Dean's hips  
  
Careful not to wake Dean, he stumbles up the stairs where he expects Dean's bedroom to be, and has a hard time not to fall over and put Dean and himself into the risk of getting their fucking necks broken. After a few moments of fearing for his own life, they make it and Cas sighs.  
  
Dean is heavier than expected and his slightly parted lips are really distracting. He breathes against Cas' shirt and his hair is damp from sweat.  
  
Dean's room turns out to be the most decent thing in the entire house. There's a bed - of course - a desk with a chair and a closet. Nothing special, Cas thinks, but then he notices all the posters on the walls.   
  
They're rockbands mostly. Led Zeppelin? Wait, isn't Kansas a state?  
  
Castiel shakes his head. The age gap between Dean and himself can't be too big, Dean's around 17 or 18 and Cas only is 24, but he obviously missed the return of classic rock.  
  
He lays Dean down on the bed gently, then frowns. What do you do when people have a fever? Wrap them up in a blanket?  
  
The blanket obviously isn't the worst idea because as he drapes it over Dean, his fingers grasp the covers quickly and a slight smile spreads across his face. Even in his sleep and being ill, Dean looks stunning.  
  
It would be a good idea to leave and give Dean some rest, but as Castiel turns to walk out Dean's door, warm fingers curl tightly around his wrist. He stares back at Dean whose eyes are barely open.  
  
"Cas."  
  
"Dean."  
  
"Cas, I.." Dean whispers.  
  
Castiel puts his finger over Dean's dry lips and shakes his head. "Get some rest, Dean."  
  
"I just wanted to tell you that -"  
  
But Castiel doesn't get to hear what Dean wanted to tell him. Dean falls asleep in the middle of his sentence and starts snoring.  
  
To his own surprise, Castiel is sitting beside Dean's bed as he wakes up. Dean presses the heels of his hands against his eyes and starts rubbing, a consent hum coming from his lips. He yawns as he stretches and his shoulders crackle.  
  
The face Dean pulls actually is kind of cute and Cas has a hard time refraining a chuckle. When he finally does make a noise, Dean glares down at him. He obviously isn't sure whether to look surprised or angry.  
  
"What are you doing here, Cas?" he asks dryly.  
  
"I made you a soup." Castiel shrugs apologetically. "I didn't find the ingredients I needed so the things I found had to do."  
  
"Health is better than wealth, right?" Dean actually grins.  
  
"But, Dean, you're not healthy as well," Cas determines.   
  
Dean just rolls his eyes at that and for a second all the pain and anger and unspoken questions seem to be forgotten, but of course Cas has to fuck up.  
  
"Dean, could we please talk?"  
  
"Cas," Dean shakes his head, "I don't know what there is you want to talk about."  
  
"You're lying."  
  
"No, I'm not  _lying,_ Cas."  
  
Trying to make the whole situation less humiliating for both of them, Castiel hands Dean the soup. "Here." Dean doesn't take it. "I know you hate me right now, but you have to eat," he insists.  
  
The bowl breaks to pieces as Dean slaps Cas' hand away and it falls to the floor, the soup sloshing all over the carpet in front of the bed.   
  
"I don't hate you," Dean hisses. He gets up.   
  
"Dean, you have a fever.."  
  
"No, I fucking don't have a fever, Castiel." Dean places his own hand on his forehead. "Cool as ice, now get out of my way."  
  
Castiel doesn't move an inch away.  
  
"Goddammit, Cas!" Dean grabs Cas' hand and makes him touch his skin. It actually went back to normal temperature. Oh well.  
  
"Why did you leave?" Castiel's question fills the room, making the air gooey and he can't breathe properly. Blue eyes meet green ones.   
  
"I didn't mean to leave, to be honest," Dean finally says and for a few seconds he seems to want to say more, to explain something Castiel doesn't know, but he doesn't.  
  
What?  
  
"What?"  
  
"That's why I tried to apologize before passing out, you know, for leaving. And for crying. I just. Freaked, I guess. You know what, give me a second chance. I mean. Uh."  
  
What happened to the Dean that had wanted him to screw off?  
  
"Dean, I don't think-"  
  
"Cas. I need the A in your class, alright? So."  
  
Right, this was all about his grades, he almost forgot that. But then why has Dean been crying?  
  
"A-and this time I won't fuck up, I'll obey, just, please, let me try again." Dean takes a small, hesitant step towards Cas. He's dangerously close now.  
  
Inside Cas' head two voices are screaming.  
 **Say yes, you want this, if it hadn't been Dean, would you have made the same offer? No. You want Dean. Say yes, Castiel, don't be dumb. Be selfish for one time.  
** But the other voice doesn't seem to agree.  
 **Say no, you will regret this and you know that. Your feelings for Dean aren't mutual. Besides, you're his teacher. Say no, Castiel, don't be dumb. Be smart for one time.  
  
** "If you really want to do this, we are gonna put up terms of reference. We will start off easy, alright? I just," Castiel has to swallow, "want you to be safe."  
  
"Fine. Rules. That's cool," Dean means.  
He looks at Castiel through his lashes, exactly the same way he did as he tried to convince him to help him to improve his grades. The memories of the development of the conversation are more than unwelcome.  
If Dean doesn't stop looking at him like that, with a bedhead and his cheeks still flushed, Cas probably won't be able to hold himself back.  
  
But maybe that's what Dean wants. No, he wants an A. Not Castiel. But still, he's so close to leaning in and kissing Dean. His tongue darts out to lick across his lips and Dean's eyelids flutter shut and Dean comes closer and Cas is about to lift a hand to Dean's cheek and his lips are fucking dry again and-  
   
"DEAN?!"  
  
Dean and Castiel break apart instantly.   
  
A man, even taller than Castiel, is leaning in the door frame, his eyes wide in disbelief. The bottle of beer in his hands is close to slipping out of his grip. He looks from Dean to Castiel and then back to Dean.  
  
"Hi, Dad," Dean forces out with a sheepish smile.  
  
"Is that your  _boyfriend,_ Dean?" he asks, stumbling over "boyfriend" and gives Castiel an angry look.  
  
"No, we're just friends. I know him from uh school," Dean explains.  
  
Fortunately, Dean was smart enough not to mention Cas is his teacher. Castiel is pretty damn grateful that second because Dean's father looks like he is going to beat him up any second.  
  
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Winchester," Cas says.  
  
The other man grumbles and stumbles away, obviously drunk. Dean slumps down on the bed, sighing. "That was risky."  
  
"Sure was," Cas grins.  
  
"So," Dean lays down on his side, propping himself up on his elbow "What are the rules?" A cheeky grin runs over his face and reveals his teeth. Straight and white.  
  
Castiel sighs inwardly. How much more perfect could this boy possibly be?  
  
He's about to sit down next to Dean's bed again as Dean reminds him to lock the door. "Why? What do you think is gonna happen?" Castiel teases. Dean's cheeks flush. "Just close the fucking door, Cas."  
  
Cas locks the door, chuckling.   
  
"I was thinking we could start by you coming to the cabin like a few days a week, maybe? Not too long, a few hours probably."   
  
"Sure?" Dean sounds surprised.  
  
Castiel takes his time to think about what he's going to say next. "Would you uh stay the night from every Friday to Saturday, too?" Holy hell, he's done this before, why is he so scared of Dean saying no?   
  
"Yes."  
  
He lifts his head to examine Dean. He is smiling, but his jaw is tight. There's something wrong, he can tell that. "Dean?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Is there anything you'd like to tell me?" _Like telling me you love me cause that would be pretty awesome.  
  
_ Dean's eyes look kind of glassy as he tilts his head, staring right back at Castiel. "Not really, no."  
  
"So, did you think about limits?" Castiel switches the topic quickly.  
  
"Actually, yes."  
  
"Oh. Well. Good. Did you figure anything out?"  
  
"I had to look a few things up, but I don't like the idea of fisting." Dean puts a hand over his face, blushing crimson. Castiel throws his head back and laughs, loudly, and can't stop for several seconds.  
"What's so funny?" Dean pouts.  
  
"Nothing, Dean. Anything else?"  
  
"Yeah. You seem to be pretty weird, so I'm just gonna say it. I don't think I'd like uhm this thing called Golden Shower and the one involving crapping on each other."  
  
"Dean! What do you think of me?" Castiel honestly is a little hurt.  
  
Dean's shoulders lift slightly, but he's smiling and this time it's real.  
  
"But apart from that, I'm pretty much okay with quite a lot of things." Dean bites his lip in a way that makes Castiel want to rip his fucking clothes off and fuck him into the mattress of his stupidly messy bed, a hand over his pretty mouth, so his dad wouldn't hear him while he's writhing underneath Castiel.  
  
He pushes that thought away. Maybe he'll come back to it another time, though.  
  
"So, you're really doing okay, Dean?" He draws his eyebrows together. He still doesn't know why Dean had been crying.  
  
"Yes. Yes, and sorry for leaving again. And not eating the soup."  
  
"Don't worry about the soup. I can make it again another time." It sounds like an unspoken promise.  
  
"So, we have a deal, or what?" Dean's eyes sparkle in the sunlight coming through the blinds. "I guess," Castiel murmurs.  
  
They seal their deal with a chaste kiss and as Castiel pulls back, he avoids eye contact with Dean as if he's afraid to get lost in the green of Dean's eyes.  
  
But, quite frankly, he already is.  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments on how you liked it are much appreciated c:


	4. One Week Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened after Dean left the cabin.

_Where the fucking fuck are my pants?  
  
_ Dean angles his boxer briefs from the ground and quickly puts them back on. He scoops up his shoes and shirt and - fuck his pants - sweeps out of the room just as Castiel turns on the water.  
  
By the time he stumbles along the path to his car, he still can hear the ripple of water in his ears. Dean opens the car door hastily and kind of falls onto the driver's seat. An outcry leaves his lips and he whimpers, trying to find a position that is less painful for his sore ass. His legs are shaking and it occurs to him that he shouldn't have overreacted like this.  
  
 _You didn't overreact. You did the right thing.  
  
_ Breathing hard, he puts his hands on the steering wheel and tightens his grip until his knuckles turn white and his palms start to hurt. His stomach itches and he scratches it absently, his thoughts still confusing, and a part of him wants nothing more than to get back into bed with Cas, feel his warmth and just let himself be held.  
  
Sighing and in order to wipe the last tears off his face, he rubs his hand across his cheek. Dean freezes. Now there's a smear of come on his face. If he wasn't really conflicted with his feelings towards Castiel and the fact that he just got fucked by his  _teacher_ and liked it, he would have laughed.  
  
"First things first," Dean breathes and his voice sounds wrong, toneless somehow. He reaches over to the glove box and a bunch of stuff falls into the footwell area. Cursing, Dean bends down to gather everything up, but while going through the things on the floor, he doesn't find what he's looking for. There's nothing -  _nothing -_ to clean himself up.  
  
"Fuck."  _I can't go home like this.  
  
_ A brief gaze down on himself confirms his fear. The come is also on his underwear now. Dean turns his head to look into the rear view mirror and wipes at least the streak on his cheek off with the back of his hand, then wipes his hand on his already dirtied boxers.   
  
"Dean?"  
  
Dean flinches and looks up, but there's nobody outside the car. It's almost sad how much he'd hoped it would be Castiel coming to search for him.  
  
 _How pathetic. Am I seriously hearing voices now?_  
  
"Dean?!" There's the voice again and it belongs to Cas, without any doubt.  _"Dean?!"_ There's an imploring undertone to Cas' voice. _  
  
_Dean is so close to get out of his car, run back to Cas and apologize. But he doesn't. Instead he drives away as quickly as his blurring vision allows. On his ride home he almost knocks over a mailbox and is seconds away from running over a woman, but he can alter course just in time.  
  
He must look really awful with his reddened cheeks and watering eyes, shirtless and shaking in his car. He's not even wearing pants. All Dean can hope for is that his dad isn't going to be home.  
  
Dean slips into his shirt after parking the car opposite his house. Pain runs through his chest and makes him shudder.  _What..?  
  
_ He lifts up his shirt again, which is quite a release for his abused nipples. Dean trails his fingers down his chest and pokes his left nipple gently. "Ah, fuck," he whines, but tugs the shirt back down.  
  
The come on his stomach is dried and he's kind of glad about it, at least his beloved Kansas shirt won't get ruined. He gets out of the car and is about to just walk through the front door, but then he remembers his dad might be home, so he sneaks to the back door instead.  
  
The back door is much more of a risk, though, because it usually creaks.  
  
 _Maybe today's one of the days it doesn't creak, maybe today's one of the days it doesn't creak, maybe today's...  
  
_ No, it's not. The door even seems to creak especially loudly.  
  
Dean doesn't hesitate a second, he starts running. Through the corridor, around the corner (No Dad so far), then up the stairs and towards his room at the end of the floor.  
  
He's almost there as someone yanks Dean's shirt from behind. Dean gasps, startled, and twists his shoulders, but the grip on his shirt is firm and he can't move away.  
  
The fabric of his shirt is a torture for his nipples.  
  
"Dean, where've you been?" his father mumbles. And before Dean can reply he adds, "And where are your pants?"  
  
 _In a cabin, next to a bed in which my teacher fucked me senseless and I ran away afterwards because I am scared of my feelings for him.  
  
_ "Probably at Jamie's. I lost a bet," he says instead. Dean is facing his father now.  
  
"Whatever," John snorts and pushes Dean's chest. "Da-ah fuck," he tries to suppress a moan, but the pressure against his nipples is nearly too much to handle. Dean blushes and clenches his hands into fists because he know what's about to happen.  
  
"Fucking faggot."  
  
Dean knows his dad wouldn't say things like that if he was sober, but he isn't and it still hurts. It hurts every time his father insults him. It hurts because, for one time, he wants his father to be proud of him. Just for once. But it's never enough. He isn't as smart, as adorable or as well-mannered as his little brother Sam and probably never was or will be.   
  
But this time, Dean's just angry. He doesn't need to put up with his drunk father right now, he's got other things on his mind he needs to think about. The image of navy blue eyes appearing in his mind's eye wasn't supposed to be part of it, though.  
  
"Shut up, Dad. Just leave me the fuck alone." Dean can already feel the tears welling up again. He needs to get away right fucking now.  
  
For the first time ever he's countered. John cocks an eyebrow at his son, but he seems rather amused than angry. "Yeah, kiddo." A sly smile spreads across his face and makes him look younger, more alive.  
  
Dean turns around and is just a nanosecond too slow. "Dean...?" His father's voice is dangerously low now. With his jaw tightened and his hearbeat stopping for a second, he looks back at John.  
  
"What's that on your boxers?"  
  
 _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ _  
  
_"What do you mean?" A weak attempt to flay time, but it's better than nothing. "The white stains."  
  
"Oooh, that" Dean forces out a laugh and even in his own ears it sounds too high-pitched to be real. "That's whipped cream, we baked."  
  
That was the lamest thing he could've come up with for an excuse.  
  
"Is that some kind of gay joke?" John asks suspiciously. "No. And Dad, I'm bisexual. Okay? Listen to me one fucking time in your life."  
  
With that, Dean rushes into the bathroom.  
  
He slams the door shut behind his back and locks it immediately. The last time he left it open, his Dad walked in on him masturbating and he definitely doesn't want that to happen again.   
  
Slowly, it feels like everything's happening in slow motion, Dean sinks to his knees and the tears start streaming down his face. Too soon his whole body is shaking and he's convulsed with pain.  
  
His heart feels like it's been stabbed a billion times. His dad had started it all with insulting Dean and telling him he'll never be good enough for anyone. Then his mother died. Not long after, John had started to beat him whenever he felt like Dean needed to be reminded of how "worthless" he is. And now, Cas.  
  
Sure, Cas didn't do anything wrong. He just, like, didn't do anything. Maybe that's the point.  
  
 _Hey, he never said he liked you. What did you expect? He's just interested in a sex slave or whatever. Get your shit together and go back to him and apologize._ _  
  
_Dean takes a few shaking breaths before picking himself up and padding over to the whole-body mirror. He can't help but sigh.  
  
His hair is a wild mess and he's not entirely sure if it's from the heavenly sex or himself tugging on his hair while sobbing. Making a few whimpering noises, Dean manages to take his shirt off and widens his eyes.  
  
Instead of being normal and pink, his nipples are swollen and erect. They're colored in a bluish shade of red, almost lilac. His boxers follow his shirt.  
  
Dean examines his body thoroughly. Castiel's fingers left little bruises around his hipbones and - Dean blushes - he actually left a hickey on his fucking collarbone, just low enough any collar would cover it.  
  
 _Fuck Cas and his sucking skills.  
  
_ Then Dean turns his back towards the mirror and peeks over his own shoulder, slowly scanning his back for marks Castiel left. He bends over, rests one hand on his knee and trails the other one down to his ass.  
  
As his fingers reach his hole, he winces, but the pain isn't as agonizing as he expected it to be, it's rather a nice stinging feeling. Well, as nice as pain can be.  
  
He's still a bit loosened from before, Dean notices and can feel his blood rushing south.  
  
 _Not now. Shit.  
  
_ Dean curses as he gets up and looks frantically for a washcloth. He'd almost forgotten the dry come on his stomach. After he cleaned himself up, his tummy is red and the skin sensitive. Dean feels the sudden urge to shower, to get Castiel entirely off him.  
  
He doesn't want his scent in his hair, he doesn't want his taste on his lips and tongue and he most definitely doesn't want to see the hickey anymore.  
  
 _It should mean I'm his, but it doesn't.  
  
_ Naked, Dean sprints to his room, rips his closet open and randomly grabs a shirt, a new pair of boxers and pants, then runs back to the bathroom. Back in the safety of the tiled walls, Dean tosses the used boxer briefs into the trash can. Even though he knows that throwing his clothes away won't erase the memories of Castiel all over him, it makes him feel better. At least for now.  
  
Someone knocks on the door.  
  
"Dean? Are you in there?" Sam asks. It's good to hear Sam's voice.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Dinner's ready."  
  
"Alright, give me one more minute."  
  
Sam doesn't reply, Dean only hears him skipping back downstairs and he realizes once more that without his little brother, he would be so much more unhappy.   
  
Dean gets dressed and runs a hand through his hair. But it just won't behave. It's like Cas didn't mess Dean up only from the inside, but the outside, too.   
  
 _I really need to take a shower after dinner. I want it all off me. Off.  
  
_ He flashes a bright smile as he enters the kitchen. "What's for dinner, Sammy?" Sam lifts his head from the paper he's been working on. "Excuse me, what?"  
  
The seat next to Sam is still free, so Dean sits down. "What's for din-...is that what it looks like?"  
He steals the paper from Sam, who lets out a squeak and tries to get it back before Dean can read it. "Dear Jessica..Oh Sammy, a girl?"  
  
Sam blushes and pulls a face. "Shut up, Dean," he mutters. "Where did you meet her?"  
  
"In a uhm cafe, she works there on weekends. She's really fucking gorgeous," Sam sighs, "and way out of my league. Ha, obviously."  
  
Dean pats his little brother's shoulder. "Who could resist you and your puppy eyes? But seriously, Sam, man up. You like her, she probably likes you...give it a try."  
  
Sam tilts his head and raises a brow at Dean. "Are you high?"  
  
"What? Sammy! No. Why?"   
  
"You're giving me serious relationship or kind of such advice?"  
  
"So? I'm your brother."  
  
"I just thought you never lo-...nevermind." Sam quickly lowers his gaze.  
  
"Loved someone?" Dean can't keep the smile up any longer.  
  
"No..yes. Dean, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."  
  
"Mhm."  
  
Dean stands up and puts a couple of plates into the dishwasher to buy himself a few seconds.   
  
 _Never loved someone? Maybe he's right. But Cas? What is it about Cas? It's just a stupid crush, nothing more.  
  
_ "Who's Cas?"  
  
 _Oh fuck, I said that out loud?!  
  
_ "What?"  
  
Sam has a wolfish grin on his lips. "Aww, Dean. You're blushing, you know that?"  
  
"Don't aww at me, you little shit," Dean grumbles and punches Sam's arm lightly.   
  
"So, who is Cas? Cassandra?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Casey? From school? She's cute if I remember that right." Sam just won't drop it.  
  
"No, Sam, just quit asking, I won't answer you anyway."  
  
"It's a guy, then, right?"  
  
 _Ugh. Surprise, bitch, he does know me.  
  
_ Dean not answering him seems to be answer enough for Sam. He whistles and and winks at Dean. "What does he look like?"  
  
Now, that Sam knows it's a guy, Dean doesn't see a reason not to tell him. "He's got dark hair and uh blue eyes. Actually, they're kind of navy. You should see his hands, they're so, you know, elegant."  
  
"Navy is blue, Dean," Sam chuckles. Then there are heavy steps coming down the stairs and Sam whispers "Buttsex" at Dean.  
  
 _This little fucker.  
  
_ "I'm going to kill you," Dean growls, but switches the topic. When his father steps into the kitchen, Sam and Dean are busy talking about school. "What's for dinner?" John wants to know.  
  
"Made lasagna," Sam says shyly.   
  
Dinner passes by very slowly and everyone eats in silence, the only noise filling the room is the scraping of forks against porcelain. Dean keeps his head down and avoids to look at his father. It was hard enough to lie once about the whipped cream, but he's not sure if he could do that again another time.  
  
"Soo, how was your day, Dad?" Sam asks and his voice sounds kind of raspy.  
  
John shrugs and turns to Dean, who ducks his head. "You okay?"   
"Yeah, sure."   
  
His father shrugs again and goes back to eating. After they finished their meal, Dean puts the dishes and the cutlery into the dishwasher and announces that he's gonna take a shower.  
  
The warm water runs down his body and Dean exhales. Dean takes a washcloth and starts cleaning every inch of skin he can reach without dislocating his shoulder. He spends an extra long amount of time to scrub the hickey, which of course remains, but he still keeps rubbing until the pain overpowers the thought of Castiel.  
  
But no matter how hard Dean tries, he doesn't get the blue eyes or Cas' gentle hands out of his head.   
  
 _Damn his fingers.  
  
_ Unfortunately, Dean suddenly remembers what Cas had done to him with just his fingers. He shudders. The water doesn't feel warm anymore. But the warmth pooling deep down in his groin is better than water anyway.  
  
 _Cas.  
  
_ Dean slides his hand down his stomach.  
  
 _Cas.  
  
_ He slowly wraps his fingers around the base of his cock, imagining it was Cas' mouth instead of his hand. Dean closes his eyes and jerks his hand. Once. Twice.  
  
 _Cas.  
  
_ He has to bite his lip not to moan. Usually, Dean finishes off as quickly as possible, craving the pleasure that comes with his orgasm and the few seconds of aftershock, but not this time. Today, he takes his time, paying attention to every part of his still growing erection and he keeps telling himself that this is the last time he will jerk off on Castiel.  
  
Dean circles the tip with his thumb, runs it down his length and back up. His mouth is opened in a silent sound of pleasure, his head tipped back and he barely can resist the urge to move his hand faster, to find the release he's craving so bad.  
  
 _Castiel.  
  
_ His strokes become slowly but surely firmer and he gives a little twist at the end of every one. Just like Cas did. Dean moans against his hand and sinks to his knees. He hesitates a second before he lets go of his cock.  
  
Dean can feel himself blushing. This is so different from anything he's ever done before. He sucks on two of his fingers until they're slick with his own saliva and moves them to his entrance.  
  
The first finger goes in easily and Dean soon adds a second one. Going slowly at first, he fucks back on his own fingers and tries desperately to hit that special point deep inside him.  
  
 _Fuck, Cas, what have you done to me?  
  
_ In a kind of clumsy way, he finally manages to crook his fingers and surprisingly hits his prostate. Dean cries out before he can cover his mouth.  
  
"Dean, are you okay?" Sam shouts from the corridor. He sounds concerned. "Yeah, I'm good, just d-dropped the uh shampoo bottle," Dean chokes out. He can hear Sam slam the door of his room shut again.  
  
For a few seconds Dean keeps totally still, his fingers slowly dragging across his prostate, but apart from that he doesn't move. Just when he's sure nobody's eavesdropping or something, he wriggles his fingers around.   
  
Suddenly, Dean is back in the cabin. Castiel, behind him, murmuring sweet nothings in his ear while making him lose his mind. Castiel, over him, thrusting into him and his eyes on his. Castiel, next to him, his face twisting in fear as Dean shoves him off. And Castiel, too far away to reach on an emotional level.  
  
Dean, his fingers still buried inside of him and stroking his prostate, uses his other hand on his cock to send himself over the edge.  
  
And if he thinks of navy blue eyes, soft lips and messy dark hair as he paints the blue tiled walls white, nobody has to know.  
  
  
Dean listens to Led Zeppelin that night and falls asleep with one line repeating in his mind over and over and over again.  
  
 _All of my love,  
  
All of my love,  
  
All of my love to you now._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more smut and such in the next chapter. Hope you liked it anyway? /.\


	5. The Safeword

**Tomorrow, 5 pm, cabin.**  
  
Dean drops his backpack as he finds the folded note in his locker. The thought that Castiel had put it in there makes his heart skip a beat.  
  
"You okay man?" Jamie wants to know. Dean gives him a small nod and slips the paper in his pocket.  
  
He quickly glances at the schedule taped to the door of his locker. So, if he just had Algebra then...his next class is Art History. Ugh.  
  
Dean does notice that Cas' eyes sweep up as he enters the room and follow him the whole way to his seat and as Dean sits down to look back at Castiel, he's busy re-arranging a stack of sheets. "Today we'll be talking about..."  
  
But Dean doesn't get to hear what they're going to talk about. He only sees Castiel's lips moving, his tongue darting out to moisten them. It's pure torture to watch Cas, but not being allowed to think about all the things he might to to him the next day. Because if he did, Dean would definitely have to go to the bathroom.  
  
Dean is more than relieved as the bell rings and he'd managed to stay - more or less - calm during class. He even flashes a smirk at his teacher as he leaves. And he thinks Cas blushes, but it might have as well been just a shadow running across his face or the sunlight.  
  
  
********************  
  
  
Dean takes another look at himself in the mirror. Everything seems to fit, even his hair looks better than usually. He circles his shoulders and inhales deeply. His shirt sticks to his skin that's still damp from showering.  
  
"Going out, I'll be back later," he shouts as he quickly makes his way downstairs. His father answers with a grumbling noise.  
  
30 minutes later, he walks up to the cabin and knocks firmly.   
  
 _Okay, keep out your feelings. This is just a deal, nothing more, you're doing that for your grades. You're not going to jerk off on your damn teacher anymore. Stay cool._  
  
Easier said than done.   
  
"Hello, Dean."  
  
"Hey uh...Cas," Dean mumbles.  
  
"What's with that puzzled expression of yours?"  
  
Dean sighs and reaches out to adjust Castiel's collar. "There uh, yeah, nevermind." Cas glances down at his now fitting collar. Dean's hands are still on his shoulders. "Um, Dean?"  
  
Immediately, Dean's hands are at his sides again. "Sorry about that."  
  
But Castiel only laughs, softly and heartwarmingly, steps aside and invites Dean in. The room looks just like it did last time. Cas disappears into the little office for a few moments and comes back with something blue. "You left your jeans here after our last, well, uhm," Castiel doesn't seem to find a word for what they'd done and it kind of satisfies Dean.  
" 'Session' ", he finally says and turns to lock the door to the office, but he's slow enough for Dean to notice his reddened cheeks.  
  
As Cas faces Dean again, his expression had changed. It went from a nervous kind of cute to grown-up in a way that reminds Dean of how much experience Cas actually has.  
  
Dean finds it hard to stay completely still while Cas orbits him, his eyes burning on Dean's skin. Soon he begins to randomly scratch the back of his neck or rub his wrists, Castiel still thoroughly examining him.  
  
"Cas?" Dean asks after another minute of it. "Yes, Dean?" Castiel's voice is calm and has an amused undertone Dean doesn't miss. "Why are you staring at me like this?"  
  
"Don't you like me paying attention to you?"   
  
 _Can't you just answer my question?_  
  
Dean can't really lie to Cas and besides, he doesn't want to either. "I do like it, but you're just really close and it makes me nervous, to be honest."  
  
Castiel stops, mid-step, and frowns. "Nervous? Being close to me didn't seem to make you nervous last time. We were even closer, remember?"  
  
And, hell, Dean  _does_ remember.  
  
As if that wouldn't be enough, Castiel also goes for dirty talk now.  
  
"Writhing underneath me, begging for more."  
  
"Cas, don't," Dean warns.  
  
"All sprawled out for me and so needy."  
  
Dean pinches the skin on his forearm. The pain distracts him from the sudden tightness of his jeans.  
  
"You were blushing, you know, and your eyes so wide. And you were obeying so eagerly, weren't you? So willing to please."  
  
Dean swallows, his throat as dry as bone. "Cas, stop." His zipper is a pain for his growing erection.  
  
Castiel trails one of his slim fingers up to Dean's chin, tipping his head back slightly. "What do you care about?"  
  
The question was more than unexpected, so Dean says the first thing coming to his mind. "Uhm...Sam?" "No. Think of something else."  
  
"My family?" Dean doesn't see where this is leading to, really.  
  
"No. Try again, an object."  
  
"I don't know, my record player maybe?"   
  
"What's your favorite album then?" Castiel runs one hand down Dean's chest and rests it on his thigh.  
  
"Cas," Dean whimpers quietly and hopes the other man wouldn't notice how aroused he already is. "Just answer my question, Dean."  
  
Dean is about to give Castiel the name of his favorite Led Zeppelin album as that bastard moves his fucking hand to Dean's crotch and presses down. "I'm waiting, Dean." He rubs the heel of his hand against the fabric of Dean's jeans and smirks.  
  
"I can't really think when you do that," Dean hisses.  
  
"Well, you better think faster."  
  
Castiel wraps an arm around Dean's waist and pulls him closer, his other hand still adding a painful pressure on Dean's cock. "The song remains the same," Dean chokes out and is rewarded by Castiel pulling down the zipper. The younger man lets out a sigh.  
  
 _Please tell me you're done teasing._  
  
"Don't you think it's a bit long? Try and find something shorter," Castiel demands now. And Dean tries, he really does, since that's what he's supposed to do. Right? As long as he's in the cabin, Cas is in charge.  
  
Under other conditions he would easily have come up with another album, but with Cas' hand suddenly down his pants, rubbing slowly against Dean and his mouth on his neck, it's not easy at all. "Cas, I can't do it."  
  
"You can, Dean, I know you can."  
  
His hips meets Dean's, trapping his hand between them, and Cas closes the last bit of distance between them. Within ten seconds he has Dean laying on his back on the bed, his legs spread and dangling off the edge. Dean's mind is racing, but he just can't remember a damn name.  
  
It's just a matter of seconds that his pants are taken off and thrown aside. Castiel kneels down between his legs and removes Dean's boxer briefs. "If I were you, I'd rather hurry up."  
  
"P-physical gra-fuck."  
  
Dean arcs his back as Castiel starts kissing up Dean's length. "What?" he murmurs and licks the inside of Dean's thigh. "I said physical graffiti," Dean coughs out.  
  
"Oh yeah?" Cas starts sucking and Dean is pretty sure he'll leave another fucking hickey. He muffles his moans with the pillow, but Castiel doesn't seem to approve. "Rule number one: I want to hear you."  
  
Dean is too turned on to do anything but nod frantically and hope that Cas will just give him something.  
  
Instead, Cas gets up and disappears for several seconds out of Dean's field of vision. He's more than tempted to take care of his hard-on himself.   
  
He can only her Cas wandering around, his weight making the planks crunch. But then Cas is back, beside him and wraps something around his wrists. "Cas, hey, what?" Castiel simply lifts Dean's other arm above his head, locks something, a leather cuff as Dean now sees, around his free wrist  and ties him to the headboard of the bed.  
  
"Are you okay with this?" Cas asks and yes, Dean is. He never thought he might be one to let someone tie him up or that he might be into bondage, but this is hot. The next thing Cas does is hiking up Dean's shirt above his head, but not entirely taking it off. Dean squirms, trying to get Cas' attention.  
  
After a while of staring at Dean with these incredibly blue eyes which shouldn't make Dean as happy as they do, he shows mercy and returns to his place between Dean's knees.  
  
"So beautiful," Dean can hear him mutter.  
  
Castiel's hands are on Dean's thighs again and he pushes them further apar, exposing Dean completely and his breath brushes across sensitive skin.  
  
"Say the name again."  
  
"Physical graffiti." Dean's voice is small, he sounds like he's very concentrated.  
  
"Find something even shorter."  
  
Dean tugs on his restraints, slowly becoming angry. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do while you think."  
  
 _No no no._  
  
"I'm going to lick you open, slowly. I'll take my time until you're closer than you've ever been and use my tongue on you as slowly as I want to. There will be nothing, you hear me, nothing, you can do about it."  
  
Dean's cock twitches and smears precome across his stomach.  
  
"Yeah, you like that idea, don't you? With your legs shaking and your moans turning into sobs of pleasure."  
  
He groans quietly because, yes, he really fucking likes that idea, maybe even a little too much. And as Castiel lifts his legs up and runs his tongue down the cleft of Dean's ass, he's lost in a storm of longing, desperation, need and undeniable affection.  
  
Cas licks across Dean's entrance and draws a gasp from the other man's lips.  
  
He doesn't break his promise. Castiel knows how to drive Dean crazy and uses that knowledge shamelessly. Between licking and nipping gently at his hole, he glances up at him.  
  
Dean tips his head back and lets out a high-pitched moan as the man between his legs pushes the tip of his tongue inside him. It's not deep, it really isn't, but he never thought this would feel as good as it does. The saliva's done its work and made the tight muscles unclench. And Cas is really fucking good at this, working his tongue in ever so slowly, and Dean gasps breathlessly.  
  
"Don't forget about the album," Cas breathes against Dean's skin and Dean just groans in response, his mind so empty and his heart so full.  
  
Dean stops fighting against the cuffs holding him in place and focusses on Cas' tongue inside him, curling upwards and he knows one thing for sure. If Cas goes on like this, he'll come untouched.  
  
Gentle hands find their way up to Dean's hips and hold them as Cas fucks his tongue deeper inside Dean.  
  
"Fuck, Cas, right there," Dean whimpers.  
  
Just like Cas promised, his legs actually shake from the effort of keeping them apart and of course because of Castiel, flicking his tongue against Dean's hole.  
  
All Dean wants is to melt into the mattress, all he needs is a little push to drive him over the edge. His cock is swollen and aching, he's not quite certain if he can take this much longer. "Cas, please," he hears himself beg before he can resist.  
  
The answer is a directed thrust of Cas' tongue against his prostate. Dean cries out once more and suddenly remembers he still has to name another album. He clenches tightly around Cas' tongue and trembles, on the brink of orgasm.   
Cas circles his tongue around and Dean has no clue how the fuck he manages to move his tongue so goddamn hard and fast and hits the exact right spot.   
Then there's a new feeling, Cas started sucking on his hole as though he was trying to suck him dry and it's just too much for Dean.  
  
He comes with a sob, actually screaming from the intensity of it. "Coda!" he cries out.  
  
That's it, the album's name.   
  
Castiel helps him through the convulsions of his orgasms and pulls him into his arms as he lays flat on his back, breathing shallowly and wrecked.  
  
"So good, Dean, so perfect."  
  
Cas kisses his head and undoes the cuffs. "Wait here, okay? I'm going to clean you up. And don't run away this time."  
  
Even if Dean wanted to, he's not sure if he'd be able to move a single muscle. Apparently he is since he manages to sit up as Castiel returns with a washcloth and gently cleans Dean's stomach from the come.  
  
"Why an album, Cas?" Dean pants.  
  
Cas grins widely and there's something in that smile of his that makes Dean want to kiss him over and over again. "Safeword."  
  
Dean widens his eyes. "Safeword? All this effort for a safeword?"  
  
"Yes, Dean."  
  
And Cas makes such a dumb face that Dean can no longer be annoyed or confused. "Well, then, Coda it is."  
  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? Let me know c:


	6. Reflections

Dean moves the pie around on his plate.  
  
He tried to eat it, but with Cas sitting across from him and just watching Dean eat, it's impossible. He scowls because  _damn_ this is really good pie. It's not one of those you can get at any grocery store, no, it's from the small local bakery Dean loves. He never goes there, though, because they charge so fucking much money for one of these thin slices of pie.  
  
When he and Sam were younger, John used to take them there on occasion.  
  
"Don't you like the pie, Dean?"   
  
There's a clangor as Dean drops his cutlery and bends down to pick it up quickly, hitting his head on the edge of the table on his way back up. "What, no, it's great." He waggles his hands to show Cas that he  _really_ likes the pie and it's just bound to happen, really.  
  
His fork slips out of his sweaty fingers and lands somewhere near Cas' chair. "Uhm, sorry." Dean stares at his hands for a while.  
  
 _Since when are you failing me? Dammit, hands._  
  
"Don't worry about it, Dean." Castiel seems amused, his blue eyes shining with a nice kind of malicious joy. He still doesn't bother picking up Dean's fork, even though it's just inches away.  
  
Dean gets it after a while of the usual staring contest, which he loses pathetically. He  _always_ loses. It's like Castiel doesn't have to blink for hours or something, he just keeps on staring at Dean, noticing every hair that's out of place, every crinkle by Dean's eyes whenever Cas raises a smile from him.  
  
He gets up from the wooden chair he's been sitting on for the past hour and walks over to Castiel, kneeling down beside him. Locking his feelings away had worked pretty good until now, but today is going to be quite challenging for Dean. Because today is Friday. And that means staying the night for the first time. With Casitel. Alone. In a cabin. In the woods.  
  
Seriously, how wrong does that sound?  
  
Yet, he can't suppress the tingling feeling deep down in his stomach as Castiel uses his fingers to tip Dean's head back and pats his thigh as an invitation.  
  
Dean gets up and straddles Castiel, one knee on either side of him, his arms around the other man's neck. The whole dom-sub thing is very different from how Dean had expected it to be. He thought that being a submissive meant to follow strict orders, not look at your dom or talk without permission. Well, maybe in some cases it was like that, but not so with Dean and Castiel. They were rather acting like a couple except for the fact that Cas  _does_ give orders and the lack of feelings. At least from Cas' side Dean bets.   
  
Castiel holds Dean by his hip with one hand while using the other one to pull Dean down for a kiss. Dean enjoys it when Cas kisses him, especially when it's just like this. When it's out of nowhere, when it's not while Dean has to watch his breathing because me might moan at the things Cas does.  
  
Castiel's lips are soft and sometimes he has a stubble, but that just makes the kisses better in Dean's opinion. As Castiel pulls away, his lips are red and a little puffy.  
  
Dean sits back on Cas' thighs and chews on his bottom lip, a little nervous because he's not really sure what Cas expects from him. Does he want him to make a move or does he want him to wait and obey?  
  
The gentle push of Cas hips against his own is more than welcome and Dean grinds down on Castiel. For a while they just sit on the chair, Dean pressed against Cas, Cas' hand carding through Dean's hair and their lips locked together in a kiss. The constant grinding of Dean's ass against Cas' crotch finally makes a dent.  
  
Dean smirks against Cas' shoulder as he can feel his hard-on pressing against him.  
  
And he smirks because he did that.  
  
He can make Cas nervous, he knows that. All it takes are wide eyes and a bit of whimpering. It works every time. Dean's not quite certain why that is, but when he had to step by at Mr. Novak's office at school to talk about his grades once again, he did just that and Castiel had sent him back to class without explaining anything any further.  
  
"Dean," Cas breathes against his neck. "Yes, sir?" Dean whispers because he knows Cas likes being called that.  
  
"I'd like to try something today. But I'd rather show you than explain, are you okay with that?"  
  
Castiel asks for permission. Until now he'd done that every time he and Dean had spent time together. And Dean was happy about it. "Yes."  
  
Dean gets off Castiel's lap and instantly misses the warmth of him. They walk downstairs into the largest room in the entire cabin. Dean assumes it's as big as all the other rooms together. Upstairs there's only one room. It's a kitchen, but not really a kitchen. There's a small table with four chairs and an oven and a dishwasher, but there also is a sofa and a weird looking blue box.  
  
The room hasn't changed the slightest since his last visit except for the covers of the bed. Castiel must have changed them.  
  
Since the first time he'd been here, Dean couldn't get his mind of the rectangular, cloth-covered something leaning against one of the walls. At first he thought it might be a TV, but it's too huge to be one.  
  
Castiel has never even looked in the direction of the  _thing._ But today he stands next to it and looks kind of excited, like a little boy who's about to unwrap his presents on his birthday.  
  
"Stand in front of it."  
  
 _Okay, it really can't be a TV._  
  
Dean takes a few more steps until he's standing centered in front of it. Then Castiel pulls down the cloth and Dean looks at...himself.  
  
His lips are slightly parted and his green eyes wide in surprise.  
  
 _A fucking mirror?_  
  
Castiel closes the distance between them and positions himself next to Dean, staring at their reflections in this really tremendous mirror. Dean would've risked a glance over at Castiel, but like this Cas would noticed, so Dean just pretends to look at himself while he allows himself to stare at tousled dark hair and eyes he'll never forget.  
  
"This is really, uh, huge."   
  
"Look, Dean, I don't want to push you to do anything you don't want to, okay?" Dean has no clue what Cas means.  
  
It slowly occurs to him, though.  
  
"Oh, no, no big deal, really, that's cool." And he means it. Castiel sets a small but solid-looking chair next to Dean. "Where did you get that from?" Dean just has to ask.  
  
Cas points at one of these weird boxes Dean hd seen all over the cabin. "Stood right there."  
  
"Dean, this is the last time I'll ask, promise, but are you really okay with that?" It's so hard to hear the words coming from Cas' mouth and knowing he doesn't say them because he likes Dean or anything, but to keep up their agreement for as long as possible.  
  
"Yeah, Cas." Dean smiles reassuringly and that seems to move a lever inside of Castiel because he gets that look on his face that is really hard to describe.  
  
"Touch yourself for me, Dean."  
  
 _Holy shit._  
  
Dean doesn't mention that he does that every night before going to bed, repeating Cas' name like a mumbled mantra.  
  
He moans at the thought of Castiel watching him and that should make him feel weird, but it doesn't. He strips off his shirt and pants quickly, eager to show Castiel that he  _can_ obey, that he _can_ act professional and keep his feeling completely out of this. Despite the fact he can't, but he can let Cas think he could.  
  
Dean slides onto the chair in just his boxers.  
  
When he sees his reflection, though, it's not that easy anymore. Is that what he looks like when he's turned on? The head of his erection is visible through the thin fabric of his boxers and leaks precome.  
  
Castiel must have noticed something because suddenly he's behind Dean, rests his hands on his shoulders and whispers, "So good, Dean, you're doing so good."  
  
Dean pushes his boxers down his legs, onto the floor and spreads his legs, displaying himself for Castiel.   
  
The pressure on his shoulders is gone, but he can hear Castiel making noises of appreciation behind his back, but can't see him in the mirror. He must have stepped away.  
  
When Dean curls his hand tightly around his cock, he sighs softly. He uses the beads of precome running down his length as lubricant and moves his hand slowly. After a few strokes, Dean starts thrusting up in his hand and gasps as the familiar wave of pleasure rushes through him.  
  
Sooner than expected, Dean can block his surrounding out and pretends he's in his room, the door locked. Dean sucks on his lower lip to stop himself from moaning Cas' name. He jerks his hand again and presses his thumb briefly against his slit, just long enough to make him choke out something between  _oh_ and _fuck._  
  
"So beautiful, Dean."    
  
Castiel's voice is so distant. And so are the moans Castiel makes at the sight of Dean, his head hanging back and his mouth open.   
  
Dean can feel his toes curl and he whimpers, thrusting up harder and tightening his grip. So close. A warm hand wraps around his own and pulls it away from Dean's now aching dick.  
  
"Cas. Cas, god, please," he mumbles, his eyes still screwed shut. And then Castiel lifts him up, takes Dean's seat on the chair and Dean is straddling Cas again, just like a few minutes ago. Castiel had managed to undress himself without Dean noticing it. Again.  
  
Apparently he'd also lubed up his fingers because one of them presses against Dean's entrance. Dean rests his forehead on Cas' shoulder and just growls a little as Cas slides his finger in with barely any resistance.  
  
"Almost there, Dean, so good, you're doing so good."  
  
"You don't say that when you've got your fingers inside of one." But Castiel only laughs and doesn't stop praising Dean. Now there's two fingers inside of Dean, he can feel them curl upwards and then pleasure sparks through him, reaching every corner of his body.   
  
When Castiel thinks he's stretched Dean out far enough, he taps Dean's hip and the younger man gets the hint. He rises up on his knees and changes his postion, so his back is against Cas' chest and his knees on either side of Cas again, but pointing towards the mirror.  
  
"I want you to watch yourself falling apart. I want you to see what you look like when you're begging."  
  
 _God, this is so hot._  
  
"Yes," Dean gasps and settles against the tip of Castiel's cock. Cas takes hold of Dean's hips again and as Dean lowers himself onto Cas, he buries his face in Dean's exposed neck and sucks bruises into the sensitive skin.   
  
Dean leans forward, steadying himself on Castiel's knees and slightly rocks his hips. According to the noises Cas makes this was a good idea. He lifts himself up and slams all the way back down. The feeling of Cas' cock meeting his prostate is brutal, it presses the air out of Dean's lungs.  
  
In addition, Cas now starts thrusting up into Dean, relentlessly and his pace rough. Dean won't last long, but he's not sure if he's allowed to come just yet. The cheeks of reflection-Dean are flushed and he looks pretty pathetic, fucking back down on Castiel and moaning and gasping.  
  
Castiel, however, looks perfect. His mouth against Dean's shoulder, sucking marks Dean will see at least for a week and his hands on his hips, helping him to keep up his pace.  
  
Dean's hips stutter as Castiel, after half an eternity as it seems, strokes his throbbing cock. The last thing Dean sees before his orgasm blinds him is his own face in the mirror. His mouth is open in surprise, lips o-shaped, and then it's just trembling legs, the feeling of being filled up by Castiel and filthy moans.  
  
By the time Castiel finds his release, Dean is conscious enough to ride him through his orgasm.  
  
The older man presses sweet kisses to Dean's neck where his flesh already is turning red. "So good, Dean." And this time Dean can't argue because Castiel's fingers aren't up his ass anymore.  
  
Sure, he could say the same thing about dicks, but he's far too tired to say anything at all. After Cas had cleaned either of them up, he asks whether Dean would like to go to bed. "Can I be honest?"  
  
"Of course, Dean."  
  
"I'd like to finish my pie first." Cas laughs and it's one of the real ones, the ones Dean loves so much.  
  
Dean plows the leftover pie into his mouth greedily while Castiel keeps him company. They go to bed not long after and Dean feels safe with Cas' arms around him.  
  
"Goodnight, Dean," Castiel mumbles and drifts off to sleep even before Dean can answer. Dean goes to sleep after another minute of staring at Cas.  
  
Dean is woken up by the sunlight shining right onto his face. "Nrgh," he grunts and pulls a face. Castiel is sleeping next to him, his hair even messier than usually, and Dean leans down to inhale Cas' scent. He smells like spring and the mint toothpaste he has standing in the tiny bathroom.   
  
Looking at Castiel sleeping makes Dean sad because this is so intimate. What are they? They aren't even lovers. They're just dom and sub and...- Dean has to get out of here.   
  
The air is too thick and he gags.  
  
But he has to say it once. Just one fucking time and now is the right time. "I - I love you."  
  
His voice is barely audible in his own ears and he has to stop himself from kissing Castiel or do anything stupid and childish at all.  
  
 _Why can't things be good for once?_  
  
  
By the time Castiel wakes up and drowsily opens his eyes, Dean is long, long gone.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Nothing Else Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Cas' POV again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the new update took so long! I was quite stressed because of school and I didn't really know how to continue either, tbh. But yeah, here's the new chapter. Hope you like it!

The air smells like rain and summer and happiness, but Castiel ist  _not_ happy.  
  
He's been thinking about Dean all day  - again - and started wondering when this happened. Was it because he'd slept with him? Was is because he got to know him better? Actually, it didn't ever matter since it was happening anyway - thinking about his student.  
  
They'd met up a few more times by now and Castiel never asked Dean why he left again last Saturday morning, even though the thought has bothered him ever since.  
  
He shifts his feet and the gravel under his shoes gnashes quietly. A few raindrops have rolled off the smooth leather of his black shoes and reflect the sunlight shining through the cloud cover. Castiel stares down at his hands, his nails chipped to the nail bed, and frowns. He didn't even notice he was doing that again. It usually happened when he was extraordinarily nervous or sad or -  
  
-  _in love?!_  
  
Castiel almost spits out his coffee.  
  
From the bench he sits on he can spot a young couple walking down the path, hands intertwined, hips casually bumping together and laughing.   
  
He finds it very hard not to imagine him and Dean doing this.  
  
Slowly, Castiel rises to his feet and a smile spreads across his face, smoothing out the crinkles on his forehead, as a plan comes to his mind.  
  
  
  
********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
"The Weeping Woman, anyone? Come on, guys, anybody?"  
  
Castiel searches for raised hands, but there are none, not even Jason seems to know anything. He's about to give up and just go back to writing dates and names on the blackboard as someone finally raises his hand. It's a hesitant and shy movement, but it catches his eyes immediately.  
  
He lowers his gaze to smile at the student, whoever it is, but his smile freezes as he sees  _who_ that particular student is. Dean's bottom lip is caught between his teeth and he has a serious expression on his face, so this probably isn't an attempt to make him nervous. Castiel raises his eyebrows in surprise.  
  
"Mr. Winchester?"  
  
"Well, it's a work of Picasso's, drawn in 1937 after the bombing in the Spanish civil war."  
  
For a few seconds that feel more like hours, the entire classroom is silent. Nobody says a word, hell, Castiel can't even hear anyone breathing. "That's, uh, right, Mr. Winchester," he says then, his voice echoing in the room.  
  
With a devious grin, Dean leans back in his chair and takes the tip of his pen his mouth, lightly chewing on it. Even from his place behind the teacher's desk, Cas can see his jaw work.  
  
Then, Dean's tongue darts out to swirl around the plastic, almost gently licking his pen.  
  
The piece of chalk in Cas' hands breaks in two.  
  
Quickly, he crouches down to pick both parts up and he feels ridiculously relieved he can disappear behind his desk for a couple of seconds.   
  
 _This cheeky ass bastard, really._  
  
As Castiel stands up again, he wants to comment on how well Dean did, but Dean is still thoroughly sucking his pen, even closing his eyes.   
  
His actions stay unnoticed by anyone but Castiel, though, because Dean's sitting in the last row.  
  
Castiel's fingers tighten around the edge of the desk he'd absently gripped and he forces himself to breathe through his nose. He feels like a teenage boy. But, seriously, can he be blamed for something that's not even his fault?  
  
He looks back at Dean.  
  
Dean smiles around the hard plastic of his pen, his tongue runs over the tip and leaves Cas' cock hard in his pants. If he doesn't either get Dean to stop his blowjob on the pen or excuses himself to maybe 'copy another paper', this will end terribly.  
  
To his own luck, the bell relieves Castiel from his worries. "To my office, Mr. Winchester," he snaps before rushing out of the room, almost running into a student. He can hear the class chuckle and giggle behind his back and someone say "Dean gets fucked in the ass." That someone yelps in pain only a second later as Castiel can hear the slap of fist against jaw, but he can't really get himself to care.   
  
By the time Dean closes the door behind his back, Castiel feels much better and his hard-on isn't pressing against his zipper anymore.  
  
"Mr. Novak," Dean greets formally, his head lightly lowered.  
  
"Dean."  
  
As Dean's head whips up at that, he can feel a weird pull in his stomach and he forgets everything he'd wanted to say, but it doesn't seem to matter anymore. Not now. Not when these green eyes stare at him, slowly checking him out, or at least watching him intensely.  
  
"Dean, I would very much appreciate if you could stop doing...this kind of things," Castiel gets out, just slightly awkwardly. Dean flashes this bright smile at him and leans across the table Castiel had taken seat behind.  
  
"Really, sir? Why is that?"  
  
Outside the cabin Dean is nothing like submissive and shy, he's cocky and Castiel can't help but admire him for his many facings. The younger man is now really close and his breath brushes Cas' dry lips as it comes out in hot, little puffs that make the air between them sizzle with tension. If Castiel wasn't entirely sure that it wasn't possible, he would've thought that you could take the tension and lock it in a jar, sparks flying around like fire flies, trying to escape just like the butterflies Castiel has been feeling fluttering around in his stomach for a while.  
  
But now is not the time for this.  
  
"It's distracting," Castiel simply says and turns his head away, no longer able to hold Dean's stare. A soft "oh" falls from Dean's lips.  
  
His student looks down at the wood of the table for a few moments and as he lifts his head again, his eyes are hard. "Can I go now?" It feels like a punch right into Cas' face. "No. I wanted to ask you something, Dean." Something runs across Dean's face, but Castiel can't quite define it. Is it fear? Anger?   
Dean's lips are a hard line and Cas wants to reach out, wants to kiss him and make him smile. He's noticed that there always is a small, happy smile on Dean's lips the second right after the kiss. He feels somewhat stupid for noticing that.  
  
"Do you know what day it is today?"   
  
Dean counts on his fingers, "Monday, Tuesday, Wednes-...Friday, why?" Then, his eyes go wide in understanding. "Oh, it's Friday, I mean, well, not that it would be a problem, right? Or is there a problem? Certainly not for me, like, seriously, I'm good. Awesome. Yeah, everything's awesome. Or isn't it for you? Is something wrong? For me it isn't. You know, Fridays are awesome. Everything is....awesome, right?"  
  
 _Why does he seem so nervous about it?  
  
_ Castiel had never seen Dean like this. Rocking back and forth on his heels, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt, eyes even wider than usually.  
  
There even is a light blush on his cheeks and neck.  
  
It takes Castiel a few intakes of breath before he can answer his student. "I was wondering if we could meet up earlier, I'd like to...show you something." This is risky, this is really fucking risky. It's a line Castiel never even should have considered crossing, but he can't help it, not with Dean.  
  
He's never done something like this before for good reasons and he knows for sure that this might mess up the whole thing they have going on, but he just needs more.  
  
More of Dean.  
  
He wants everything. The flaws and imperfections, the secrets, the smiles and tears and whispered nothings they could share whenever-  
  
"When?" Dean asks hesitantly.  
  
"You usually come over at around 8 pm right?" Castiel asks to make sure. Dean nods slowly. "Would you - Would 6 be convenient for you, then?"  
  
The corners of Dean's mouth twitch, but don't quite form into a smile. "Yes, it would be very  _convenient,_ sir."  
  
Castiel can't even describe how that takes the weight off his shoulders and sends a rumble through his whole body. "Alright, I'll be at the cabin at 6, then," Dean says and turns around.  
  
 _Shit, no.  
  
_ "Dean, I was thinking about picking you up at your place. With my...car," he finishes lamely.  
  
"Oh, well, alright I guess?" Dean looks confused, but shakes it off quickly. He waves once more, then he's out of the door and Castiel can't stop smiling.  
  
  
********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
Dean sits on the road curb, his bag in his lap and his leather jacket around his shoulders as Castiel pulls into the street. Castiel peers at Dean from the driver's seat and drums his fingers on the dashboard until the younger man notices him, his green eyes reflecting the sunlight.  
  
He rises and approaches his teacher, taking confident steps towards the blue car.   
  
The bag lands in the backseat before Dean slumps down in the co-driver's seat, his knee meeting Castiel's as he does. Automatically, Castiel mumbles an apology and shuffles his feet to bring some space between his and his student's leg so they won't be touching more than necessary.  
  
"Soo, what's up with all the sneakiness?" Dean asks, buckling his seatbelt. "You'll see soon enough," Castiel answers and turns on the engine.  
  
The ride is kind of awkward. None of them is willing to break the silence that might have been comforting if Castiel's and Dean's knees weren't constantly bumping together. To be honest, Castiel has no clue how that's even happening since he hasn't had troubles with things such as lack of space with anyone in his car before.  
  
"Music?" Castiel asks then.  
  
"Do I get to pick?" Dean counters.  
  
Grinning slightly, Castiel waves his hand towards the glove box and freezes as he touches Dean's shoulder.   
  
 _Christ! Since when is this car so small?!  
  
_ But Dean just leans forward to rifle through the CDs and tapes Castiel had stored. "Seriously, dude, Mozart?" Dean scoffs and holds a tape right in front of Cas' face. He just lifts his shoulders. "It helps me to relax, you know?" And for some reason Dean nods and goes back to looking through his music.  
  
"Metallica, hey, hey, who would've guessed you own something like this?"  
  
"I was a rebellious kid," he says, keeping his eyes on the road. Castiel looks for a certain exit. As Dean puts the CD into the car radio, he turns his head to face Castiel.  
  
"Where are you taking me, Cas?"  
  
His teacher looks over at him for a second and smiles reassuringly. "It's a surprise." Another 10 minutes of driving pass without talking, the only sound in the car is James Hetfield's voice.   
  
  
 _Never opened myself this way,  
_  
 _Life is ours, we live it our way,  
  
_ _All these words I don't just say, and nothing else matters.  
  
  
_ "Seriously, Cas, where are we going?" Dean stares out of the window. There are now more trees behind the beam barriers. "Patience, Dean."  
  
Castiel stops the car after another 3 Metallica songs and Dean's eyes sweep up to him. "Where are we?"  
  
Without giving Dean an answer, Castiel gets out of the car, walks around the engine hood to open the car door for Dean, who gives him a surprised look, but takes the offered hand anyway. Dean is standing pretty close again and he can literally feel the younger man's body heat, even through the fabric of both their shirts.  
  
Not even now, with Dean right in front of him, Castiel is sure whether this was a good idea. But it's far too late to back out. Silently, he turns around and that's when he notices that Dean is still holding his hand, their fingers interlocked. "Sorry," he mutters, slightly embarrassed about his stupidity, and wants to untangle their fingers, but Dean keeps his hand in place. "It's fine."  
  
 _What is this feeling? It shouldn't be like this.  
  
_ "Come on." Castiel's voice is soft and he drags Dean forward by their hands and they stroll down a narrow little path, lined with birch and oak trees. A bird chirps somewhere in the distance, breaking the silence. The second they break out of the trees, Dean lets out a gasp.  
  
They're standing on a cliff, high above the water. Underneath them there's small, white-crested waves crashing into the rocks, droplets of water sprinkling everywhere, painting the cold stone darker.  
  
The sun makes some waves look silver, a fluid metal.  
  
A blast blows Castiel's hair out of his face and Dean can see him staring bitterly down at the ground, the hand that's not holding Dean's clenched into a tight fist.  
  
Before Dean can say anything, Castiel pulls him further towards the edge of the cliff. Cas closes his eyes and as he opens them again they glimmer from unshed tears. That's why his voice sounds nothing like him as he speaks.   
  
"My sister died here."  
  
He can hear Dean suck in a breath next to him, but he doesn't say anything. It makes it a lot easier for Castiel to go on. "She was so young, only 17. We've always loved cliff diving and she was such a good swimmer, but one day she just didn't come back to the surface. I don't know what happened down there. And I feel guilty, Dean, so fucking guilty. I should never have suggested to jump off this cliff."  
  
"None of this was your fault, Cas, nothing." Dean's voice cracks just the slightest.  
  
"Yes, it was, I knew that the water here has dangerous currents. Yet, I still told her it was completely safe." He can feel himself shaking from the effort of not losing his shit.  
  
"Castiel."  
  
Maybe it's the way Dean's voice sounds as he calls him by his full name instead of his nickname for the first time, really. Maybe it's the way Dean's hand tightens around his own and gives him the feeling of safety. And maybe it's just the fact that he's finally talked about this to someone.  
  
"It's not your fault. I promise."  
  
He wants to say something to stop Dean from being so nice. This was some pretty stupid idea, even for him. There he stands, a grown ass man, almost crying in front of his student.  
  
"I understand you, Cas."   
  
Castiel turns his head to Dean, whose eyes are closed now. He gives Dean the time he needs, he seems to be quite taken aback as well. "My mother died in a fire. I made dinner, you know, nothing special. But my dad was drunk that night and left the pan on the stove when he heated up the leftovers. Me and my brother were at a sleepover party, at a fucking party while our house burned down. I still blame myself for not putting the food into the fridge instead of leaving it for Dad."  
  
"Dean.."  
  
They stare at each other for a while, swallowing hard and blinking frantically until Dean bursts out laughing. His laughter is broken and sad, but it makes Cas' heart jump and he wraps his arms around Dean and holds him tightly until his laughter turns into sobs and if a few tears spill from his own eyes, Cas wouldn't have to tell anyone.  
  
"Why did you take me here, Cas?"   
  
Dean stares straight forward, his gaze fixed on a small rock. Their hands are no longer touching.  
  
 _Because you mean so much to me I felt like sharing this with you. And does you sharing your mother's death mean that I mean something to you, too? Something more than just dom-sub?_  
  
"Because I trust you, Dean," he says instead. That's another reason he'd taken Dean here, to this place connected to so much pain and anger, but not the main reason.  
  
"I trust you, too, Cas."  
  
The kiss landing on Castiel's cheek only seconds later is light and sweet and so innocent it makes him cringe. As Dean sees Castiel is close to tearing up, he pushes him lightly. "Come on, Cas, let's go." And Castiel just nods, overwhelmed by his feelings for Dean.  
  
During the whole ride back, Dean's hand moves closer and closer to Cas' thigh, but stops right beneath it, just close enough Castiel can feel its presence. Then, Dean picks another tape from the glove box and turns the volume up. It's Mozart.  
  
Castiel snorts out a laugh.  
  
"Dean, you don't have to do this." The boy in the co-driver's seat turns to him, his brows lifting somewhat sadly. "I know, Cas, but I want to."  
  
They're in the middle of nowhere as Dean leans further towards Cas, cups his cheeks and kisses him.  
  
He just kisses him.  
  
Dean's thumbs stroke Castiel's cheeks and his lips swallow every sound Castiel wants to make, tenderly moving against his and taking the pain away. Not entirely, though, but Cas can relax into the kiss. With Mozart playing in the background it's kind of cheesy and more chick-flick-like that either of them had wanted it to be, but soon the piano is nothing more than a faint jingle.  
  
"I'm sorry," Castiel gasps as he pulls away. He'd let the kiss go on for far too long already and probably crossed a line or two by doing so. He clenches his hands around the steering wheel and aims for the gas pedal.  
  
His whole body's shaking, so missing the pedal isn't too much of a surprise, but the car makes a jerk as he hits the brake instead and Dean nearly squeaks.  
"Castiel, why?" Dean mumbles as they're back on the highway, the road signs passing by in a blur. "Why don't you just let me-..." Castiel waits for Dean to finish the sentence, but he doesn't. Instead, he coughs and his fingers find their way in the fabric of his own sweater, holding tightly onto it.  
  
"Let you what?"  
  
His question stays unanswered for several minutes. "Take care of you," Dean eventually sighs and shakes his head in the same second, "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking, just nevermind."  
  
 _Take care of me? That doesn't sound like someone who's just doing this for his grades.  
  
_ Castiel could tear up just now.  
  
Against better knowledge, he lets go of the steering wheel with one hand, grasping Dean's without saying anything further. But the tight hold Dean has on his hand and his thumb brushing over the back of Cas' hand every now and then give Castiel this tingling feeling.  
  
Even though his mind is in large part filled with images of the things he'd planned for Dean, there still is a teeny tiny part that wants to rant and yell about his sister's death.  
  
"First, I'm going to take care of you," Cas says gravelly. He wouldn't have noticed Dean shuddering if he wasn't holding his hand.   
  
  
********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
The only sound Castiel can hear is the noise of the cuffs against the headboard of the bed.  
  
Dean is laying sprawled out on his back in front of him, his freckled chest heaving as he tries not to make a noise, and draws his legs up to his torso. Castiel nods approvingly and trails hungry kisses down Dean's neck. " _Caaaas,_ " Dean pleads. Castiel bites down on the sensitive skin as an answer, almost breaking the skin and Dean shifts underneath him. "God, Cas, please, not toda-ah!"  
  
"Quiet, Dean."  
  
"But, Cas.." Dean's voice is barely more than a whimper and Castiel honestly can't remember that Dean has ever been that desperate for his touch. Castiel can feel Dean's erection curl upwards against his stomach, leaving a streak of precome behind. "Dean... ," Castiel murmurs against the quivering flesh of Dean's stomach, almost adding a  _My Dean.  
_  
He can feel the exact moment Dean exhales as he pulls away to stand up from the bed.   
  
"Cas? Cas, I'm sorry, I'll be good, I'll do anything," Dean gasps out breathlessly. He must have been holding his breath for quite a while according to the heavy breaths he has to take now.  
  
But Castiel doesn't have any intention in leaving, he just walks over to one of the small boxes resting on the black iron shelves installed to the walls. He makes sure to keep his back to Dean, so he won't see what Castiel takes out of the box until it's too late.  
  
Before Castiel reveals the little item hidden behind his back, he presses a brief kiss to Dean's lips. "Remember, you can always use your safeword and I'll stop immediately." The younger man just nods and bucks his hips up eagerly as Castiel brushes the tip of his erection as he withdraws his hand from Dean's cheek. One of those sinful little gasps tumbles from Dean's lips as the cold metal of the silver cock ring slips in place.  
  
"Shit," Dean chokes out, but smiles reassuringly just a second after to signal Cas it's okay.  
  
Cas leans down, hovering above Dean, and starts sucking on his nipple, adding a little teeth to it. It drives Dean crazy, he knows that by now. As expected, Dean arcs his back up from the mattress and hisses.  
  
Trailing a line of light kisses down Dean's abdomen, Castiel moves his hands to the back of the younger man's thighs and pushes them up further. The cock ring keeps Dean's cock from swelling, but it still twitches and uselessly jerks as Castiel wraps his lips over the head and adds a little suction to it.  
  
Dean turns out to have much more stamina than Castiel expected, even after his cock had hit the back of Cas' throat, he's still writhing and gasping.  
  
As Castiel pulls off, he kisses Dean, licking deep inside his damp lips and he can feel him moan into his mouth as the taste of his own precome coats his lips, making them shimmer. "See how good you taste, Dean? Yeah." Dean seems to give up his defense and slowly licks across his lips, a blush on his cheeks and down his neck.  
  
"Cas, I need..." Dean's voice breaks mid-sentence and he just gives a small nod of his head towards his cock, red and a steady stream of precome leaking from the tip. "Not quite yet, Dean, but you're doing so good, so good." Castiel presses a kiss to the head of Dean's erection, making the boy underneath him cry out from the overstimulation. He's on the brink of his orgasm, they both know it, but all he can do is thrust his hips up uselessly, craving the friction Cas' naked thighs allow. No matter how desperately he rubs against Cas, he can't find his release, his cock just gives a pathetic jerk.  
  
"Soon, Dean," Cas promises and pushes Dean's thighs further apart, leaning across him to retrieve the small bottle of lube from the nightstand. Lubeslick fingers wander down the crack of Dean's ass, probing at the tight ring of muscles and gently nudging it. Every time he's close to pushing one digit in, Dean takes a sharp breath, but Castiel refuses to quite let it slip in.  
  
When he decides to stop torturing Dean and forces in two fingers at once, Dean jumps a little.  
  
The whimpers and sobs falling from his red bitten lips are music to Cas' ears and somehow urge him to find Dean's sweet spot deep inside of his hot, slick heat. A brush of his fingertips over the bundle of nerves is enough to cause Dean to let out a startled moan that turns into a pleasured one by the time Castiel keeps his fingers pressed against his prostate.  
  
Dean rocks back on Cas' fingers as hard as the leathern restraints allow and tosses his head back and forth, obviously frustrated by the denial of orgasm. Secretly, Castiel is impressed Dean's lasted that long and intends on giving Dean what he wants soon, but not  _yet.  
  
_ "Cas...Cas... _Cas!"_ Dean sobs out as Castiel adds in another finger, stretching his rim even wider.   
  
Soothing Dean,  _his_ Dean, with kisses to distract him, Cas rips the foil packet on the covers open with his teeth and is about to slip it on, as Dean abruptly turns his head away.  
  
"No, Cas," Dean manages to pant out, "not this time. I want to..w-want - ah fuck - want to feel everything."   
  
Castiel's attitude is close to slipping, he's so close to let out everything he'd locked up deep inside him since he saw Dean's head peek around the corner of his classroom for the first time. So he just stutters something along the line of  _of course, Dean._ The smile Dean gives him in respond reaches his green eyes, that are filled with the tears of denied orgasm.  
  
His hands are shaking slightly as he lubes himself up, that's something that hasn't happend since Cas' first time. And that was literally ages ago.  
  
 _Goddamnit, Dean Winchester, how did this all happen?  
  
_ Castiel lines himself up at Dean's entrance, slowly pushing inside the hot, tight heat of Dean's channel. The sensation is so powerful and full of promises for some reason, it makes it hard for Cas not to come instantly.  
  
It must be even worse for Dean, who's squirming and rocking his hips and crying and tugging on his cuffs like an animal. Sooner than he would have under different conditions, Castiel picks up his pace and can barely stop his own hips from slamming forwards too hard. His thrusts are shallow but hard and well-directed and go straight to Dean's abused prostate. The boy underneath him is still moving his hips to meet Cas'.  
  
The second Castiel closes his eyes, his control is gone.  
  
With a grunt that sounds odd even to his own ears, the starts thrusting mercilessly into Dean. The feeling of Dean clenching around him, so tight and hot even after being stretched out, and his legs clamping around his waist, makes Castiel lightheaded.  
  
All he wants to do is bury himself inside Dean and prove how much he loves him without saying it.  
  
It takes Castiel a while to notice that something is wrong.  
  
As he looks down, Dean's limbs are limp beneath his and his eyes screwed shut, tears streaming down his face and he's just gasping. "Dean!" Castiel groans, startled, and slows down.  
  
Dean weakly lifts his head and flashes a lopsided smile at Cas. "Need," is the only word he gets out before his voice is cut off by a stifled outcry. Dean's cock jerks again and again, the cock ring cruelly refusing to let him come.  
  
It's just when Castiel manages to pull the slim silver ring off that Dean's load splatters all over his hand and stomach and the view of Dean's wide eyes, shocked from the intensity of his orgasm is what pushes Castiel over the edge as well. Black and white sparks explode behind his closed eyelids and they both tremble in aftershock for a while.  
  
As Castiel pulls out of Dean, he finds the younger man passed out underneath him, his sweat damp hair sticking to his forehead and slick running out of his puffy hole. It's quite tempting to clean Dean up using his tongue, but Castiel heads for a washcloth since he's exhausted himself and wishes very much just to get into bed next to Dean. While he holds his index finger into the jet of water to check the temperature, he thinks about the things Dean said.  _I trust you, too, Cas. I want to feel everything.  
  
_ He makes sure to clean Dean thoroughly, every last bit of come is wiped of gently and the reddened skin kissed afterwards.   
  
Laying down feels so nice, the way the mattress dips from the extra weight.  
  
But the best part of going to bed that day is Dean snuggling up to him, curling up against his chest and mumbling his name. Mumbling his name in his sleep.  _In his sleep.  
  
_ Castiel doesn't fall asleep until late at night. He strokes Dean's hair and tells him everything. He tells him how angry he'd been that Dean was so disrespectful during the first few lessons of Art History and how much he hated the way Dean had flirted with just  _everyone.  
_ He tells him that he loves the way he runs his hand through his hair after rushing down the hallway and that he adores Dean's freckles. He tells Dean that he wants to take him out on a date, to a restaurant.  
And Castiel also tells Dean that he thinks he's falling in love with him, his student. A few seconds after he said that, though, he corrects him. "I  _know_ I'm falling in love with you, Dean WInchester," is the last thing Castiel says that night.   
  
As Castiel wakes up the next morning, the sunlight shining through the thin, white linen curtains, he widens his eyes. Dean is sleeping next to him, his mouth opened slightly and he looks so beautiful.   
  
"Christ, how did I get so lucky?" Castiel mutters, "I wish I could make you as happy as you make me now, Dean. I swear I will find a way."  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


   
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments on how you liked it are always appreciated c:


	8. Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 3 am, so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes left. Enjoy c:

Waking up with Cas' arm around his waist and lips pressed to his neck had been nice. In fact, it had been so nice that Dean had closed his eyes again and he'd stayed in Cas' arms for just a little while, which turned out to be another hour or so.  
  
The sleepy voice, even more gravelly than usual, had been very nice, too.  
  
"Good morning, Dean," it had murmured right into Dean's ear and Cas had pulled Dean tighter against him. Castiel's hand had rubbed soothing circles into his sides and it had felt so, so good.  
  
They'd exchanged lazy handjobs and eventually gotten up and actually fucking showered together.  
  
It had been way more couple-like than it should've been. Dean  _knows_ that.  
  
Saying goodbye that day had been so hard, so much harder than it had ever been before.  
  
  
********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
Dean raises his hand.  
  
"I believe this is 'The Old Guitarist'. Picasso's drawing style changed after a friend of his committed suicide and it became more and more tragic. People call it 'his blue period'."  
  
He can see his teacher shake his head in disbelief and Dean wants to pat his own shoulder. For several weeks now, he'd stayed up late at night and studied. His grades were improving gradually and he's made sure his hand was pretty much always raised.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Winchester," Castiel sighs, his voice almost sad.

Dean keeps his gaze locked on Cas' back as he turns around and scribbles 'The blue period' on the blackboard. His shoulder muscles are tense and Dean instantly remembers the way those muscles feel under his trembling hands when Castiel has him gasping and moaning and -shit.  
  
A quick glance down at his lap confirms his fears. Yes, that definitely is an erection pressing against his zipper.  
  
Castiel turns around and licks his lips, rolling up his sleeves. His slim fingers card through his hair and mess it up. Dean noticed he's always doing that.  
  
Not even the heel of Dean's hand pressed against his crotch is helping today, it just makes everything worse. The tight pressure on his cock is almost similar to the feeling of the cock ring. A breathless moan slips from his lips and Dean quickly tries to cover it as a cough. He can feel his cheeks turn red as he lowers his glare to the table plate. A few people turn to give him suspicious looks and that's what really makes him cough.  
  
Dean can't seem to stop coughing, it gets so bad, actually, that Castiel has to walk to his desk and pat his back. "Mr. Winchester, are you alright?"  
  
Waving his hand, Dean nods small and is about to say something like "Yeah", but Castiel's eyes drop to Dean's crotch. To his fucking  _crotch._ And there still are about 20 minutes left until the bell would ring and allow Dean to take care of himself in the school bathroom, which would be extremely pathetic, but the only option to running around with a hard-on visible for everyone all day.  
  
Casually, Castiel rises again as if he didn't just see Dean writhing in his chair, trying to hide the more than obvious bulge in his pants.  
  
"Partner up, everyone! Read the text on page 183 and note down keywords applying to the blue period. You might as well work outside since the weather's really good today. We'll discuss your results tomorrow, so you're free to go to your next class after finishing your work."  
  
For an agonisingly slowly passing minute, there's just the creaking of chairs being pushed back, the sound of books being shut and voices, a soft giggle from somewhere across the room.  
  
Then, everyone's gone.  
  
"I know you don't have a partner when it comes to this, your friend with the baseball-cap is not in my class," Castiel murmurs as he loafs over to the door and locks it. Dean stifles a whimper and presses his thighs tightly together.   
  
 _Why is he doing this? At school? This can't be happening. And...this isn't part of the deal.  
  
_ "Get up, Dean," Castiel demands, but Dean hesitates. As he finally does get up, Cas' arms are around him in an instant, his mouth finds Dean's. Until then, Dean didn't notice how much he likes being kissed.  
  
But that's not the full truth.  
  
Sure, kissing is nice, but Castiel's kisses are incomparable. They are breathtaking, literally, and erase everything from Dean's mind except navy blue eyes and dark messy hair, small smiles and warm hands. And they always leave him wanting more, more warmth and more of this tingling feeling that rushes through him whenever Castiel would kiss him.   
  
Dean ends up sprawled out across his own desk, his palms pressed against his quivering lips and his legs trembling from the effort of holding himself in this rather uncomfortable position. His feet are shoulder-width apart and his jeans, as well as his boxers, hang low on his hips, the waistband of his underwear constantly sliding down bit by bit.  
  
Behind him, he can hear Castiel shifting and then his warm, tender hands run down his back, each vertebra responding to his touch.  
  
 _Fuck. Fuck..Dean, this is a bad idea...You know what, fuck it.  
  
_ Dean swivels around and wraps his arms around Castiel's neck, pulling him in for a hungry, desperate kiss. He can feel Cas stiffen and his hands freeze mid-motion.  
  
 _Nononono. I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked everything, everything up.  
  
_ One heartbeat passes, two, three...  
  
Castiel's hands find Dean's waist and hold him as Dean sighs deeply, letting out his breath he's accidentally been holding. A tiny spark of hope runs through Dean's veins and crawls underneath his skin, making him feel warm and fuzzy about this, the whole thing.  
  
Now, he can actually hope that Castiel might feel the same way.   
  
"Dean," Castiel gasps suddenly, his eyes wide with arousal, the blue iris almost completely swallowed up by black. Dean pulls back reluctantly. "W-what?"  
  
"As much as I'd - We have 10 minutes."  
  
"Alright, alright," Dean grouses and lowers himself to the desk again. He's left wondering where the hell Cas had hidden the small tube of lube and a condom.  
  
Castiel doesn't have the time he usually has to prepare Dean, so the younger man gasps for air as two fingers breach his hole and set up a relentless, rough pace. "Cas, shit, slow down!" Dean cries out. He waits for the fingers to slow down, for the burn to disappear, instead Castiel even forces a third finger in. "Fuck, Cas, what the hell?!"   
  
"I'm sorry, Dean, I'm sorry."  
  
Castiel's voice is close to his ear, muffled because he presses his lips against Dean's neck, sucking lightly.  
  
Dean pretty much suffers until Castiel's cock slides home and the pleasure makes the pain vanish in an instant. The small gasps tumbling from Dean's parted lips are stifled by his own palms, so he just rocks back against Cas, pushing back when Castiel thrusts forwards.  
  
Castiels hips snap forwards suddenly, nailing Dean's prostate, and Dean can't hold back the loud moan that's made his way up his throat.  
  
A warm, gentle hand presses against his lips, covering them in addition to Dean's own and professionally nipping all the noises of pleasure in the bud. Because Castiel absolutely can't hear  _anything_ Dean is saying, he decides to - you know what, screw it - just let everything out.  
  
As Castiel's free hand wraps tightly around Dean's cock and he comes embarrasingly fast, Dean sobs an "I fucking love you" out along with Cas' name. White spurts of come hit the floor and the desk. Not long after, Castiel comes inside Dean, with one of those guttural grunts Dean's got to know so well during the past month.   
  
Both men take their time to catch their breath before Dean mumbles, "How much time?"  
  
"2 minutes," answers Cas breathlessly.  
  
After cleaning up everything as quickly as possible, Dean pulls up his boxers and pants, fastening the black leather belt. Cas is still close, intruding Dean's personal space. Then, Castiel almost  _hesitantly_ lifts his hand, places it on Dean's cheek and fucking  _blushes.  
  
_ He's actually blushing.  
  
"Cas, can I ask you something?" Dean's voice is barely more than a whisper and Cas' voice is just as quiet as he answers, "Yes."  
  
"What are you doing there?" Dean wants to know, squinting at Cas' thumb, that's now resting on the verge of Dean's lower lip, pulling it down slightly.   
  
The snoot Castiel makes is actually quite cute, his cheeks still red, but it's what he says that surprises Dean. "I just, you know, I - I don't know." His thumb has started tracing his lip, moving from one corner of Dean's mouth to the other. "It tickles," Dean mumbles, not pulling away.  
  
"I know."  
  
Dean stares at his teacher, totally transfixed, and opens his mouth, closes it again, just to eventually shake his head.   
  
 _He can't be talking about his finger on my lip, this must be...the tingling-tickling feeling. Oh god, please.  
  
_ "Dean, I was - well - wondering if-" The bell rudely interrupts Castiel mid-sentence and a lever inside Cas seems to be thrown. His face gets that distant expression back and he quickly withdraws his hands from Dean's face, the places he's been touching left cold behind.  
  
"Wondering what?" Dean susurrates as Castiel leaves the room. Of course the other man doesn't hear him.  
  
 _Wondering what?! What the hell.  
  
_ "Dean, man, what are you doing in here all alone?" Jamie peers into the classroom, shoving his basecap around on his head. "I-i...was just, well, uhh," Dean stutters, his face suddenly on fire and his hands shaking. "You don't actually have to answer that, man, you know that, right?"   
  
Jamie sounds rather amused and quickly makes his way over to Dean, grabbing his friend by his sleeve and tugging him towards the exit.   
  
"Woah, dude, you must have had one hell of night!" Jamie suddenly hollers.  
  
 _What. The. Fucking. Hell.  
  
_ "Huh?"   
  
"Ah, ah, ah, don't lie to me, Dean. I've know you since middle school, you can't just lie to me and think you'll get away with it. Look, the evidence is more than obvious, dude!" A smug grin creeps across Jamie's face.  
  
Dean just raises a brow. He honestly doesn't understand what his friend is talking about. "Dude. Hickey? On your neck? All red and - hey, it looks quite recent, actually."  
  
 _Dammit, Cas!  
  
_ "Oh, that? Oh, yeah."  
  
"How was it?" Jamie asks, annoying as he is. "It?"  
  
"Jesus Christ, Dean! Do I really have to pump you for information? The  _sex?_ She hot? Nice tits?"  
  
Dean groans in frustration. Out of all things Jamie had to ask this. Of couse, it's not like he could be lucky for once. "Well, it was...okay, I guess."  
  
But Jamie just won't drop it. "Dude, if she sucks on your neck like that, it must have been more than just 'okay', don't ya think so?"  
  
"I-i, well, Jamie, look, it's not - actually, it's quite complicated - I mean, you know, there wasn't really..." Dean waves his hands around, underlining his words pathetically. His friend just winks and slaps his back. "Whatever, man, just hurry up, yeah? I'm friggin' starving."  
  
"I thought we were gonna study?" Dean asks.  
  
"Oh, yeah, we are, but can we just like go to this cafe down the street, you know, what's the name again?"  
  
" _Heaven's Cup?"_  
  
"Yeah! C'mon, lets go."  
  
Dean sighs, but shrugs his leather jacket on and follows his friend. It's raining as the two boys step outside the large building and Dean blinks up at the grey clouds above him.  
  
A raindrop lands exactly in his eye.  
  
"Oh, fuck!" Dean cries out, frantically rubbing the heel of his hand against his eye, clumsily jumping around. He can hear a girl giggle and some guy shouting something at him, but the rain is too loud to hear a damn thing. Somewhere in the distance a flash bangs in.  
  
"Hurry!" Jamie shouts, already running down the stairs and holding his backpack over his head as a makeshift umbrella. "Wait for me, you dick!" Dean yells and slips out of his sleeves, tugging the leather jacket up higher and pulls it over his head, so he can still see the ground without running the risk of bumping into someone.  
  
Dean slithers down the road, his feet always on the edge of slipping away from under him. His clothes are soaked as he arrives at the small coffeeshop just a minute later, Jamie already struggling out of the shirt sticking to his body. "Seems like heaven's opening the floodgates," Dean spits, brushing his hand through his hair until it stands out in all directions.   
  
"Sure is," Jamie says absently. He's already devouring the waitress with his eyes. Sure, she's attractive; blonde, long hair, curvy and a cute smile. But it's not doing it for Dean - not anymore.  
  
Jamie's expression is almost worried as Dean takes a seat across from him.   
  
"Are you sick or something?"  
  
"Uh, no, why?"  
  
Jamie leans back in his chair and raises both eyebrows, peering over at the waitress. "Dude. Seriously?" Dean groans and leans across the small, wooden table, grabbing Jamie's chin and turning his head away from the girl beind the counter.   
  
"Dean," his friend mutters and avoids Dean's gaze.  
  
"Huh? What?" Dean chuckles, squeezing Jame's cheeks. "Deean!" Jamie whines. Laughing, Dean lets go of his friend's face and turns on his chair to get a book from his backpack. The laughter dies abruptly as he sees someone staring at him from a table on the other side of the room.  
  
 _Are you kidding me?  
  
_ Castiel is still staring at them, his eyes wide in shock and his knuckles have turned white, his hands clenched around the edge of the table. When he notices Dean had spotted him, though, he quickly rises, gathers the papers he's been working on in his arms and doesn't even bother stuffing them back in his messenger bag, he just throws a note on the table and rushes out of the shop. His cheeks are pale as he gives Dean a last, brief look.  
  
 _Don't tell me he's fucking thinking...oh no.  
  
_ Dean jumps to his feet, almost throwing over his chair and is about to follow his teacher, but Jamie's voice stops him. "Dean, the hell, man?"  
  
"Ah, sorry," Dean says, slowly sitting back down.  
  
The waitress comes over to the table Dean and Jamie are sitting on and purrs, "What can I get you two?" Her brown eyes linger on Dean and she gives a small smirk, then leans a little closer. "I'd even offer you something off menu."  
  
Dean just ducks his head and stares down at his book again. "Sorry," he mumbles and twirls his pen in between his fingers. The blonde frowns, whips around and marches off. "Uhh...what about my sandwich?" Jamie asks, but she doesn't react. As she reaches the counter, she seems to remember that she'd forgotten something and slowly returns to Jamie and Dean.  
  
"I'm sorry, your orders?"  
  
She keeps her eyes straight on the notebook in her hand, her cheeks still flushed in embarrassment. Jamie places his and Dean's orders because he knows Dean well enough to know that he always drinks his coffee black, no milk, no sugar.  
  
"Are you sick?" Jamie asks again.  
  
"Dude, no. Now, could we please just  _study?"  
  
_ Without another comment, Jamie opens his book and starts skimming through the text, but it only takes seconds for him to regain his voice. "I'm just wondering, Dean, I mean, she's hot, isn't she?"  
  
Dean slams his book shut and narrows his eyes and as he speaks, his voice is dangerously quiet. "Not. Fucking. Interested."  
  
He stuffs the book back into his bag and hastily gets up. "I'm going to study at home."  
  
With that, he turns around and marches out the shop, the annoying little bell above the door frame jingling as the door clunks shut behind him. The rain has diminished and it's just drizzling now. Dean lowers his head and quickly makes his way to his car, that's still waiting for him on the parking lot.  
  
During his little walk, he can't stop thinking about the way Cas had looked at him as he'd grasped Jamie's chin.   
  
 _Did he really think we'd been kissing? Seriously? Doesn't he know we're definitely just friends? Ugh. I have to straighten this out. Wait, no, I haven't done anything wrong. Besides, it's not like he would care, right? Or, maybe he does. Man, that would be awesome.  
  
_ "Goddammit! Fucking car, are you kidding me?! Jesus - what the - Dammit!" someone yells and Dean looks up to find the source of the sudden outburst.  
  
Dean's heart sinks into his boots as he recognizes the trenchcoat the guy is wearing. Castiel kicks his car's tire and curses under his breath. "You okay?" Dean asks tentatively. "Yeah, yeah, my car ran out of fuel and someone slashed my tires and...oh. Hello, Dean."   
  
Castiel looks up from where he'd been kneeling and examining the tire.  
  
"You, uhm, well, need a ride home? I could take you. I-i mean, in my car. I mean, right now. Oh no, no, I mean, I could ride...you...wait. Oh fuck it! I could drive you home. That's what I meant."  
  
By the time Dean finishes his sentence, his cheeks are burning and he wishes he could just melt into the ground or teleport far far away. "No, I don't think that would be a good idea. Thank you, though," Castiel presses out and turns back to his car.  
  
"Cas, it's just a ride home."  
  
"Dean, no, it wouldn't be just a ride home, it would be another line I'd cross and I already -" Castiel shakes his head and sighs, "Nevermind." Dean looks for a way to convince Cas to stop being so fucking stubborn. "Dude, it's raining, you're soaking wet and it's cold!"   
  
As though it wanted to prove Dean's point, the drizzle turns into a heavy downpour.  
  
Castiel's hair sticks to his forehead and he honestly looks crestfallen with his head lowered like that. "Come on," Dean encourages him once more and this time Cas agrees. Quickly, the two men get into the car and slam the doors shut, locking out the rain.  
  
"Jeez, it's raining cats and dogs!" Dean gasps.  
  
He peels himself out of his drenched jacket, throwing it into the backseat, followed by his shirt. As Castiel stares at him, but doesn't do anything, Dean takes the initiative and pulls Cas' trenchcoat off his shoulders. It soon keeps Dean's clothes company in the backseat.  
  
"So?" Dean asks.  
  
"What?"   
  
"Your address? I was gonna take you home, remember?"  
  
"Right." Castiel gives Dean his address and the younger man is quiet for a second. "Wait, isn't that where the snobs live? Like, the rich douchebags with shiny cars?"  
  
He glances over at Cas, who'd stiffened in his seat. "I'm not certain if I understood that right, but, yes, I do think so." Dean snorts out a laugh. "Well, then, sir, westward ho!"  
  
Castiel shoots Dean a suspicious look, but he just chuckles, shakes his head and turns on the engine. After a while of driving in silence, Dean starts squirming in his seat, his tongue burning with the urge of telling Cas that there's nothing going on between him and Jamie.  
  
"Jamie's not my boyfriend and we're not, like, dating!" Dean blurts out and latches onto the steering wheel.  
  
Castiel doesn't answer, he just stares out of the window.  
  
"Could you turn left here?" Castiel asks after a while, still not looking at Dean. Dean turns into an alley and tries to see clearly through the heavy rain crackling. The house is huge, like, enormous and white, the front garden is about three times as big as Dean's own and the fence seems to extend to several  _kilometers.  
  
_ Pressing his lips together, Dean leans across Cas' lap to push the door open because Castiel is just sitting there, not moving the slightest.  
  
 _Why the hell? Those damn mixed signals, man!  
  
_ Just when Dean's hand reaches the doorhandle, cold fingers wrap around his wrist and pull his arm back, pinning it to the seat. "Cas, let go of my ha-"  
  
"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel says, "I'm sorry."  
  
Dean twists his arm, but Cas' grip is strong and, quite frankly, it was just a really weak attempt. "Why?" Castiel whips around and his blue eyes shine with anger. "For thinking - for assuming you and Jamie - it's none of my business." He still doesn't let go of Dean's arm, but his hold loosens a bit.  
  
 _Is he JEALOUS?  
  
_ "Are you jealous, Cas?"  
  
For a long, long, terrible moment, Cas doesn't speak. Then, "Yes."  
  
 _Holyshitholyshitholyfuckingshit.  
  
_ "Can I offer you some coffee or tea? I don't think driving home under the current conditions would be safe. It's still raining and you obviously haven't switched your tires after winter, Dean. That would be a dispensable risk."  
  
"I don't think - "   
  
"I insist on it, Dean."

"Jesus, fine!"  
  
While scrambling out of the car and running up to the front door, Dean thinks about how Castiel probably is the only one who would use the word 'dispensable'.  
  
After a mini-marathon, Dean and Cas stand on the roofed veranda and shiver, the cold wind almost painful on the bare skin of their upper bodies, their pants clammy. "C-cas, no offense, but could you  _please_ open the damn door?" Dean says, gnashing his teeth.  
  
"I can't seem to find my keys," Cas admits, strobing his jeans pockets.   
  
"Cas," Dean growls angrily.  
  
"It's fine, I have a spare key hidden under my -"  
  
"- flower pot?" Dean guesses.  
  
"No, I meant under my -"  
  
"- door mat?"  
  
"No, under my -"  
  
"- stack of newspapers?"  
  
"Dean, would you let me finish speaking? I meant to say under my lawn sprinkler."  
  
"Oh." Dean can't hide the light flush on his cheeks. "Well, as you might have noticed, Dean," Castiel grins, "I'm not really the American average." With his big ass house, a garden as large as a football court and a lawn sprinkler, he does seem like the average American, but then again there are his cabin, leather cuffs and ugly ass trenchcoat.  
  
Castiel gets the spare keys, slipping once or twice on his way back and finally unlocks the door, revealing a spacious entrance hall, with two corkscrew stairs leading to a second floor. As Castiel switches the lights on, Dean's jaw is close to actually dropping.  
  
A huge candelabrum is installed to the ceiling and illuminates the hall. The light reflects on the silver banister rail, making tiny dots of light dance on the marmoreal walls. Dean whistles quietly.  
  
"That's huge, man."  
  
Castiel almost seems to be uncomfortable, he just shrugs it off. "I inherited it when I came of age."  
  
"Doesn't make it any less huge," Dean says as he pushes past Castiel to sneak a peek at the adjacent room, that is also really huge, albeit not as big as the entrance hall. But Cas places a hand on the small of his back, his cold fingers feeling warm on Dean's skin, and starts guiding him towards another room.  
  
It turns out to be the kitchen, almost twice as big as the biggest kitchen Dean had seen so far, and looking just like one of those happy-family-kitchens they always show in commercials. Multiple countertops, a dishwasher, nothing unsual. Castiel opens the door of one of the small wall cupboards and pulls out a box filled with tea bags, and more tiny boxes with herbs in it.  
  
"Tea?"  
  
"Uh, yes, please. You have anything with caffeine?"  
  
"Sure. There would be Darjeeling, of course, Keemun, Yunnan, oh, hey, there's still Assam left! Uh, I also got Ceylon, Nilgiri and Bai Lin Gong Fu."  
  
 _Wait what.  
  
_ "Do you have coffee?" Dean asks. "Oh, didn't you want tea?" Cas sounds so utterly surprised, Dean laughs and shakes his head. "Coffee is good, thanks."  
  
Castiel starts the kettle and fetches two cups from another shelf. "Which one?" Dean picks the black one and Cas dumps two spoonful of instant coffee in each of them, then pours water over it.  
  
"Milk? Sugar?"  
  
"No, uh, I like my coffee black." Castiel nods and something about the intense look he gives him makes Dean bet Cas will never ask him that again. They drink their coffee in silence, Dean still shivering occasionally.  
  
Castiel sighs at some point and holds his hand out.  
  
Dean intertwines their fingers and instantly feels his heart hammering in his chest, almost breaking his ribs. Cas' hand is warm and dry, his elegant fingers perfectly fitting in between his own. Cas tugs him towards the stairs, leading him into a large room, the lights still turned off.  
  
"Cas, I - Where..."   
  
Something brushes Dean's ear in the dark and he jerks, Cas' hand holding the back of his head in place. As Castiel speaks again, Dean can smell the faint scent of coffee in his breath. "Dean, I just wanted to apologize for overreacting." Cas' voice sounds weird, a bit sorrowful, like he's holding himself back.   
  
 _Kiss me already.  
  
_ Dean's body is on fire, his skin tingling, and the hand Cas held feels empty without the warm embrace. He wants so badly to reach out, to kiss Cas, to just _touch_ him.   
  
"I shouldn't have reacted the way I did." Castiel's index finger runs down Dean's jawline, down his neck until it reaches his collarbone and eventually rests on his shoulder. "It was very unprofessional." The man in front of Dean leans in, but it's so pitch black in the room, Dean can just hear him shifting, not actually see anything.  
  
Cas' lips taste like coffee.

Dean closes his eyes, melting into the kiss and his hands find Cas' shoulders, their belt buckles klick as they bump togehter. The kiss is slow and passionate, Cas' hands exploring Dean's body, mapping his bone structure and the pattern of his freckles in complete darkness.  
  
With a gentle push against his shoulders, Dean's back meets the wall and for a second there's space between him and Castiel and Dean immediately craves the warmth of Cas. Then, Castiel is all over him again, pressing Dean tighter against the wall.  
  
 **Klick.  
  
** The sudden flash of lights startles Dean and he stumbles out of Cas' reach, the moment is over. "Thanks for the coffee," Dean voices under his breath. "You need some dry clothes? I could...give you some of mine."  
  
All Dean wants, really, is to get home and to forget about the kiss that had been as much out of place as the 'incident' at school earlier that day. But the thought of dry, warm clothes is so tempting that Dean agrees. Now, that Cas has turned around to get Dean something to wear and with the lights on, Dean can let his eyes wander through the room. There's a large bed with broad bedposts and dark blue duvet covers.  
  
 _I bet the color matches his eyes.  
  
_ The image of Cas all wrapped up in blue covers comes to his mind and as hard as Dean tries, it just won't go away.   
  
On the wall hang three framed photographs. The one hanging right next to Cas' bed shows Castiel and two other boys, Castiel wrapping his arms around them and grinning widely into the camera. The second picture shows a couple, arm in arm and smiling at each other. It looks like the picture was taken without their knowledge. They look happy.  
  
The third picture makes Dean's breath falter.  
  
In it, there's Castiel and a girl. Her red hair is floating in the wind, a few strands falling in front of her face and she's laughing at Cas. They're holding hands and Castiel is smiling warmly. He smiles at Dean the same way sometimes. The sky in the picture is a dark orange, the sun is setting, and underneath them...waves.  
  
 _That has to be his sister.  
  
_ "Here, I brought you a shirt, sweatpants and also, well, boxers," Castiel says as he steps next to Dean. Their fingers brush as Dean takes the stack of clothing from Castiel and it sends a wave of heat through Dean's arm, right into his stomach and wakes up the butterflies.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
And Dean is not entirely sure what he's saying it for. For the clothes? The kiss?  
  
He just can hope that Cas will understand and apparently he does because there's a glimpse of pain flickering in his eyes, but as he blinks and opens them again, it's simply gone. Maybe it was just imagination.  
  
Castiel leaves the room and Dean is more than happy to get out of his cold jeans and underwear. He hesitates a moment before he picks up Cas' boxers. It seems wrong to borrow Cas' clothes since they're not, like, together or a couple or at least something. He does put them on, though.   
  
The door doesn't even creak.  
  
"Hey, do you need - oh." Castiel's eyes widen to the size of watermelons as he walks in on Dean, stepping with the second leg in Cas' boxers. "Dammit, Cas!"  
  
Dean trips as he attempts to do both cover himself and putting those damn boxers on.  
  
"I'm sorry, Dean." A moment of silence. "I got you socks." Something soft hits his cheek and Dean finds himself face to face with a pair of black socks. "Thanks, Cas." The other man breathes shallowly as he rushes out of the room again, mumbling, "I'm going to leave you to get dressed now."  
  
 _What are you doing to me, Cas?  
  
_ But Dean pushes that thought aside and gets dressed. Castiel is already waiting for him outside the door, looking way more relaxed than he did just a few minutes ago. "Thanks, Cas, for - you know." Castiel nods briefly and seems on the verge of saying something, but as he opens his mouth, nothing comes out.  
  
"I should go home, I guess."  
  
 _Please, Cas, tell me I should stay. Make me stay. Please.  
  
_ Castiel's face mirrors Deans expression. Tight jaw and wide eyes. "The rain stopped, I assume you will get home safely." "Okay," Dean chokes out, "I'm gonna go then."  
  
During the way to the front door, Castiel walks closer to Dean than necessary. Dean's hand twitches and he can pull it back just in time.   
  
As the door swings open and a cold puff of air whiffs inside, Dean freezes in place.   
  
 _If I go out that door right now, I'll lose him. If I leave like that, it will be over.  
  
_ "Cas -"  
  
"Dean -"  
  
"Uh, you go first," Dean says, slightly surprised.  
  
Castiel looks at him worriedly and chews on his lower lip before he answers. "Would you maybe - I mean - Would you like to... Look, what I'm tying to say is..." Castiel fidgets with the empty mug in his hand. "Coffee?" Dean cocks a surprised eyebrow at him. "No, thanks, I'm good."  
  
"No, no, I mean, would you like to go for coffee? Sometime? Like, tomorrow? Totally nonbinding, of course. Just...coffee."   
  
Dean can't hold back a sly smirk. "Are you asking me for a date, sir?"  
  
He could explode that very moment, the butterflies seem to have multiplied and are aggressively trying to leave his insides. "Do you want it to be a date?" Castiel asks sternly.  
  
 _Yes, yes, yes, holy fuck, YES!  
  
_ "Totally nonbinding, I thought."  
  
 _No, no, no! WHAT AM I SAYING?!  
  
_ "No date, just coffee, right?"  
  
Castiel takes a step back and whispers, "Right." He waves towards the door and Dean steps out into the cold. Right before the door closes behind his back, he can hear the mug break to pieces.  
  
Dean's heart does exactly the same.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? Please let me know in the comments and stuff cx


	9. Heaven's Cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically, Castiel and Dean try to go on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo, here's the next chapter. It took so long, I'm sorry, but I really was stressed out and everything. Hope you like it c:

Dean stares at the wall.  
  
He's been doing that for hours now, thinking about what he'd done and how much he wishes that he'd just said what he wanted to express.  
  
 _I really messed up this time. Why didn't I just say yes? Damn me._  
  
Cas' shirt smells just like him and Dean wants to bury his face in the soft fabric and get drunk from Cas' scent. He chides himself for that thought. Grunting, he gets up from his bed and his legs feel stiff as he staggers down the stairs to the kitchen rather clumsily. Dean goes straight for the fridge and the alcohol.  
  
Dean opens the bottle of beer with just his hands and the cool liquid is balsam for his dry throat.   
  
Five beers later, Dean finds himself curled up on the kitchen floor, Cas' shirt in his hands and his face actually buried in the pile of fabric in front of him. Through the thickness of his thoughts he wonders how Cas is doing, what else he'd broken apart from the mug.  
  
 _Coffee._    
  
Dean lifts his head drudgingly. Dawn has broken and gentle rays of sunlight make their way through the blinds. The clock hanging above the fridge tells Dean that he barely has an hour left before he has to go to college. "Damnit," he slurs and pulls himself up by the kitchen counter. His head is spinning and he struggles to stand upright. 

  
"Dean, what the hell?"  
  
He spins around, knocking over a bottle, and steadies himself with both his hands on the counter. "Sammy?!" His little brother gives him a slightly scared look. "Dean, are you - are you drunk?" Dean huffs out a laugh, but it dies as he can see the concern on his brother's face when his gaze drops to the beer bottles on the floor. "Dean, are you okay?" To assure Sam that he definitely  _is_ okay, he raises his hand to wave.  
  
The fucking shirt is still in his hand, his fingers tightly holding it. "Whose is that?" Sam asks suspiciously, "That's not yours, you don't even like that band!"   
  
 _Fair point._  
  
" 's mine, 'course I like bands," Dean smiles. "Dean, that's Cas' isn't it?"  
  
Dean lets his arms sink and he stares blankly at his brother. " 's not what I wanted to ha-happen, Sammy, I swear. Just stupid me, friggin' can't do a damn thing right, always messingupyanno." Sam gives him one of those squinty eye looks, then trudges over to Dean, gently tugging on the shirt. "Dean, let me -"  
  
"DON'T FUCKING TOUCH IT!" Dean schrieks in a high-pitched voice. After a few shaking breaths and calming down, he adds, " 's all I have."   
  
Sam's face softens.  
  
"You wanna talk about it?"  
  
If Dean wasn't drunk he would've told Sam to fuck off, but now, with his worries about having messed up real big and everything that happened, he nods small. "Alright, talk."  
  
"Coffee 'n I said - said no 'cause stupid idea, right? So, fucked it up, huh?" Dean wipes his hand across his eyes. "I wanted to say yes, you know, but I just couldn't do that. My brain, that son of a bitch, just fucked up and now? Now what? It's not my fault, now, is it? 's his fault. Blue eyes should be abandoned and killed."  
  
"Anyways," Dean mumbles as he realizes that his sentences don't even make sense, "It's not a date, but, guess what? I got his shirt and his pants and his  _boxer briefs._ So, ha. Alright, at school it was quite complicated, desk 'n shit and just ten minutes for fucking, would you believe that?"   
  
Sam squinches up his face in disgust, but keeps his thoughts to himself.  
  
"It could've been a date. A date. And, Sammy?" His little brother leans against the kitchen table as he looks at Dean. "Yes?"   
  
"I think I love him."  
  
"You - well, uhm, that's great, right? If you guys go on that not-date, you can just tell him." Dean's heart gives a painful little twist and he shakes his head. "No, I can't." The clock hand ticks noisily and a headache blooms behind Dean's forehead. "Jeez, Dean, get over your pride and just tell him." Again, Dean shakes his head. "I just can't."  
  
That's what really makes Sam angry.  
  
"Dammit, Dean! Why the hell not, he's probably quite into you himself, so what's the big deal?" Dean feels the red spreading across his face.  
  
"He's - Cas is my teacher."  
  
His brother's jaw drops and his eyes widen, but it only takes a few seconds for him to get it together. "Well, then...." Dean closes his eyes and brings Cas' shirt up to his chest, pressing it tightly against the skin above his heart, that's beating furiously against his ribs.  
  
"I'm sorry, Sam," he rasps, guilt rushing through him. Suddenly, Sam steps closer and throws his long arms around his brother. "Dean, it's okay." A small sob escapes Dean's chapped lips and he quickly muffles it with the shirt in his hand. "I just need him to love me back, Sam, I can't...I need," Dean whispers.  
  
"I'm sure he does love you," Sam says reassuringly.  
  
After another minute of hugging his brother, Sam coughs and pulls away. "How about I clean this up and you go to bed again and take a day off?"   
  
 _Bed. Warm. Yes. But..._  
  
"I have to see Cas," Dean argues and sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. "You can go later, you need to sleep," Sam simply decides and pushes Dean towards the stairs. It's like Dean doesn't even offer the slightest resistance, he just lets his brother nudge him the way up the stairs. "Cas' house has stairs, too," Dean frowns. "Come on, Dean." The walk to his bedroom takes forever.  
  
"Don't I deserve happiness?" Dean asks as he falls face-forward onto his bed.  
  
Sam kneels down beside him and drapes the blanket over Dean. "Of course you do, Dean. But sleep now, alright? I'll set the alarm for you." The last thing Dean thinks of, before closing his eyes and enjoying the darkness welcoming him, is the picture of Castiel sitting beside his bed, holding his hand and his face twisting in concern.  
  
  
********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
 ** _"Seven am, waking up in the morning, gotta be fresh -"_** Dean's phone blurts out. _  
  
_ _Damn Sam and his fucking pranks!_

Dean has never pressed the dismiss button on his phone that quickly. He kicks the covers aside and swings his legs off his bed, the ground a harsh contrast to the coziness of his bed. Black socks are laying beneath his feet and Dean's mood immediately lifts.  
  
He's going on a date. Well, a completely nonbinding date. He's going to go on a nonbinding coffee date with Cas. The grin on his lips widens.  
  
The clock on his phone tells him he's got enough time for a quick lick and a promise and maybe, if he hurries up, even for breakfast. He could really use some toast with peanut butter right now. With his stomach growling in approval, Dean gets up, Cas' shirt curled around his wrist, and notices with delight that his headache has vanished.  
  
Humming, Dean disappears into the bathroom and washes his face and combs his hand through his sleep-mussed hair, frowning as he finds a few strands knotty. Dean doesn't own a hairbrush, never has, so he takes Sam's ( _Damn, I really have to use the clippers on Sam some time soon!)_ and brushes his hair. When he runs a hand through it afterwards, it feels fluffy and maybe - just maybe - Dean considers getting his own hairbrush.  
  
 _Should I bring his clothes and just put them in his office, or should I wait until I go to the cabin?_  
  
Dean decides to wait until later to return the shirt to Cas. The thought of just keeping his shirt sneaks into his mind, but he pushes it away quickly.  
  
He's been right - Toast with peanut butter is just the right thing to start a morning with. The fact that his dad hasn't shown up yet makes his morning even better. A quick glance over at the hat stand confirms his anticipation. His dad's brown coat, as well as his keyring, is missing.  
  
John probably went to get some more liquor or, if he sobered up the slightest, groceries, but Dean highly doubts that. It must have been months since he'd seen his dad completely sober.  
  
But Dean isn't willing to let the thought of his dad ruin his morning, so he turns on the radio standing on the kitchen table to a classic rock station, closes his eyes and lets the music distract him. Dean goes back to his room and gets dressed properly, he's pretty sure this crumpled shirt and just boxers - Cas' boxers - won't do.  
  
He puts on a fresh shirt and black jeans, but keeps on Cas' boxers and socks. Something about his clothes gives him that warm feeling of safety and happiness and he wants to keep holding onto it as long as he's allowed to.  
  
"Oh damn!" Dean shouts after another glance at the clock.  
  
Grabbing his backpack from where he'd tossed it yesterday after not studying with Jamie and not making an appointment with Cas, Dean leaves his house and gets in his car.  
  
Some butthead has boxed him in last night and he has serious problems with maneuvering his Impala out of the tiny parking space the driver of that white Ford had left for him to deal with. 

Eventually, he manages to reach college without any further complications.

Dean takes two steps at a time and as he enters the large grey building, the hallways are empty. Everybody's still in their classrooms or sitting somewhere on the college grounds, studying or smoking or whatever the hell they're up to. Drawing his brows together, Dean saunters down the corridor towards the classrooms and thinks about what his next class is.  
  
 _Please, let it be Art History._  
  
"Oh, hey, Dean," someone behind him mumbles. He whips around and finds himself staring at a girl with her hair shaken in her face.  
  
"Uhm, hey?"   
  
As much as he hates to admit it, he can't remember her, which is a shame, actually. "Bye, Dean," she smiles and scurries into another classroom and a second later the door is closed behind her small back.   
  
During the walk to his next class, which fortunately happens to be Art History, he wonders who that girl had been and what the hell she'd wanted. Probably some girl he'd hit on on one of the parties earlier this year.  
  
 _Yeah, that must be it._  
  
Just to make sure he didn't think wrong, Dean peers through the small rectangular window on the door to the classroom. Castiel is already busy behind the teacher's desk, pulling out papers of his bag and swiveling around to quickly prepare something on the blackboard. His tie isn't straight, as always, and there's chalk on the tip of his nose, making him look like a kid that's been messing around with paint.

Slowly, Dean pushes the door open.  
  
"De-...Mr. Winchester, I didn't expect to see you today," Castiel greets, his cheeks a glorious pink.  
  
"Didn't think I'd make it to college today," Dean admits and gets closer to the teacher's desk. Cas' hands reach out and find a hold on the stack of paper on the desk plate. Something about Picasso.  
  
"So, uhm, I'm just gonna - well - go to my seat then."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
 _What the hell is this?_  
  
Dean sits down on his chair and crosses his arms, watching Castiel turn around again and improving the underlining of "The Blue Period", which actually had been perfect already. Yet, he wipes it off and underlines the words again. 

Then Castiel looks back at Dean and smiles.  
  
That smile is so wide and honest, it makes Dean's stomach make a small jump and he instantly returns the smile. "Dean, about later, I just wanted to ask whether  _Heaven's Cup_ would agree with you. I thought maybe we could get our coffee there?"  
  
 _He hasn't forgotten, oh my god._  
  
"Sure, that would be awesome."  
  
"Great, I'll just -"  
  
The door opens and a few people enter, invading the bubble of intimacy that's just been building up between a teacher and his student. It pops without making a sound. Giving Dean an apologetic look, Cas turns to greet his other studens. The smile he gives them is small and formal, nothing like the wide grins he lets Dean see from time to time. In the following minutes the room fills gradually until all the seats are taken.  
  
Mr. Novak's class in one of the few everyone shows up to. Because, you know, who wouldn't love an attractive teacher, who blushes way too easily?  
  
And Dean already has an idea how to get his teacher's cheeks to light up in that beautiful pink.  
  
After about 20 minutes into the lesson, he raises his hand. "Yes, Mr. Winchester?" Castiel asks, all casually. "Can I go to the restrooms?"  
  
Castiel squints at him in suspect, but nods, even though he looks like he's thinking about whether Dean is planning something or actually just going to take a piss.  
  
As he gets up, Dean stretches his arms above his head and his shirt rides up his stomach. Castiel's face immediately is on fire. He must have seen the waistband of his boxer briefs. Hastily, he spins around, stumbles over his shoelace and gets a hold of the backrest of the chair just in time to pull it down with him.  
  
Everyone starts roaring.  
  
With a smug smirk on his lips Dean leaves the room, still hearing everyone's laughter in his ears and then Castiel saying something that makes his students just giggle louder. He walks around a corner -  _jeez, I really need to pee now -_ and almost bumps into that girl from before. "Oh, hey, sorry, uhm," Dean frantically thinks for the name.  
  
"Lisa," the girl whispers.  
  
 _Lisa, Lisa, who the fuck is Lisa?_  
  
"Good to see you, Lisa," he says then, just to say anything at all. After excusing himself to the bathroom, he remembers. His ex-girlfriend. Wow. Awkward.  
  
By the time he returns to class, Castiel's face went back to normal. He still shoots Dean an angry look, but doesn't say anthing about what happened. Satisfied, Dean sits back down and lets the minutes pass by until the bell rings. He takes his dear time packing the books back into his bag and maybe stays longer with his head under the table than really necessary, but like that he can waste time.  
  
As everyone's left the room, he gets up, swinging his backpack over his shoulder.  
  
"Soo, about that coffee thing," Dean starts. "Yeah, right, I just wanted to ask if you'd like to meet me there right after school." Castiel seems to be looking forward to it.  
  
"Yeah, awesome."  
  
"So, it's settled?" Castiel checks hesitantly.  
  
"Well, I'd say-" 

Dean is cut off by the buzzing of his phone in his pocket. He throws a quick glance at the display. The number shown is unknown and Dean is close to dismissing the call, when something - he doesn't even know what - makes him overthink his decision and he holds up his index finger. "Sorry, gotta take that." Castiel nods silently.  
  
"Yeah, Dean Winchester?"  
  
He doesn't recognize the voice at the other end, it's female and sounds somehow professional. "Yeah." Dean frowns as the woman keeps talking. "Yes." Castiel studies his face during the whole call. "Wait - say that again - he's what - yeah, okay - no - what - No, I don't know. What?! Of course not - yeah, alright. Okay. Thank you, goodbye."  
  
Dean slides the phone back into his pocket, then looks back at Cas. "Seems like I've got to cancel the non - uh - binding coffee thing."  
  
Sadness creeps across Cas' face.  
  
"I don't understand, I thought..." Castiel stares at the ground and Dean instantly feels bad. "No, no, it's not like - My dad had a car accident. I need to go to the hospital and check in on him. I'm sorry. Look, Cas, I don't know how long this is going to take, but I don't think I can come to the cabin either, I'm sorry."  
  
"No, Dean, don't apologize. This is your family, I understand now. Just be safe."  
  
The sadness in Castiel's eyes is still there, darkening his eyes into a shade of blue that's most likely to describe as ultramarine. "I didn't mean to cancel this, Cas."  
  
"I know."  
  
Dean leaves without another word, his shoulders drawn up and his jaw clenched.   
  
 _Damn it, John. Can't you just fucking let me be happy for once? It was going SO. WELL:_  
  
  
********************************************************************************************************************

John looks miserable, laying there in the hospital bed with the covers pulled up to his chin, which is graced by a light scruff.

"Dean, finally."  
  
"Good to see you too, Dad." Dean turns away from his father and faces the nurse wiping the nightstand next to his dad's bed.   
  
"When will he be able to come home?"  
  
She looks up, a genuine smile on her thin lips, and says something about the surgery going down well and the injuries looking good. "When will he come home?" Dean interrupts her as she keeps dodging the question. "In three days if his condition remains the same." At that, John lifts his head and waves at Dean.  
  
"Would you leave me and my son alone for a second?"  
  
"Of course, Mr. Winchester," the nurse purrs and sweeps out of the room, leaving a puff of perfume behind. "Dad, what the hell happened?" Dean wants to know. He's still angry and disappointed, but right now he's too worried to think about that he could be sitting in a cafe with Cas.  
  
"Ah, nothing big. Didn't see the car coming, crash, boom, 'n here I am."  
  
Frustration wells up inside Dean, making him feel too hot under his skin. "Take responsibility for once, Dad! Did you even think about Sammy?" All John does is roll his eyes and snort.  
  
That's it.  
  
Dean inches closer to his fathers face and hisses, "Put him instead of you in the first place, John, just for once." The next second the left side of Dean's face is on fire and burns like hell. For several seconds the sound of John's flat palm on his skin resonates in Dean's head and he can feel the tears come up in the corners of his eyes.  
  
It's not like John never hit him before, but the pain is still, well, painful every single time. "Wow, Dad, wow, that's how you want to live your life? Fine."  
  
He turns on his heel and presses the emergency button installed next to the hospital bed as he makes his ways to the exit. "Dean, don't you walk out this room! I swear to God!" John yells. The nurse from before rushes into the room just as Dean looks at his father one last time.   
  
"Or what? Are you going to disown me?"   
  
John's expression is crystal clear and to interprete without doubt.  
  
"I've lost my father in a fire many years ago, I don't mind losing you." Dean is surpised by how calm his voice sounds compared to his insides screaming.   
  
 _I need to see Cas. I need to. I need to get out of here.  
  
_ Around him, there's people yelling things and someone taps his shoulder, but the only thing Dean's mind is focussed on is the red blinking exit-sign and then the black varnish of his baby. He runs a hand over the car wing before slumping down in the driver's seat.  
  
The knuckles of his right hand collide with the steering wheel and he blows a horn accidentally. While his breathing goes back to normal condition, he thinks about what to do next. As much as he wants to see Cas, he can't. At least that's what he thinks. He told Cas that he wouldn't come to the cabin, so why on earth would Castiel be there? And Dean definitely doesn't want to show up at Cas' house - fuck it - mansion unheralded.  
  
After a few moments of thinking frantically of any kind of distraction, Dean pulls out his phone and dials Ellen's number. Ellen is the owner of 'The Roadhouse', the bar he works at, and something like an aunt to him, even though they're not in fact related.  
  
"Dean Winchester." He can hear the smile in her voice.  
  
"Ellen, hey, I just wanted to know if there's any shift I can take tonight?" Dean can hear papers being crumpled up in the background and then someone mumbling. "There is a shift free, actually. If you take Jo's shift, she can take the night off and you can work if that's what you want."  
  
He could hug Ellen right now. "Awesome. When does the shift start?"  
  
Dean's shift starts at 8 pm and he couldn't be much more grateful because like this, he's got his hands full with serving customers and wiping off tables. He always gets a good tip, especially from those drunk guys that always lean a little too far across the bar. "Ugh, Rob, seriously, I'll call you a cab, you can't go home like that."  
  
"Aw Pretty's worried 'bout my ass, huh?"  
  
Chuckling, Dean leads the drunk guy to the entrance of The Roadhouse, where they wait for the cab to pick Rob up and take him home safely. Then Dean goes back to work.  
  
The hours pass by quickly and Dean is currently pouring a brunette girl with a really gorgeous smile a Southern Comfort for the third time as the door opens again and a blow of lukewarm summer air rips through the room. Two men walk in, arm in arm, and make their way to a booth in the corner.  
  
Dean's eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.

It's Cas and a guy with ash blonde hair that now sit down across from each other, but keep touching. A casual brush of Cas' hand against the other man's arm, a flick of the blond's finger against Castiel's cheek. Dean's heart shrinks to the size of a peanut and he starts feeling dizzy.  
  
Trying to ignore the lump in his throat, he turns back around and walks over to a table where a couple of young guys and girls are seated. "Can I get you guys anything?" Dean asks, pulling out a small notebook from his pocket. He goes on like this for a while - taking orders, mixing cocktails and avoiding the booth where Cas and his (what exactly is he?) boyfriend-date-whatever are sitting- until Ellen storms out of the office behind the bar.  
  
"Dean Winchester, what do you think you're doing? I can tell these gentlemen have been waiting more than thirty minutes now," she scolds him and Dean ducks his head just to make sure Castiel won't recognize him immediately if he should happen to look over at Ellen.  
  
"Sorry, Ellen," Dean mumbles and slowly makes his way to Cas' table. "Good evening, what can I-"  
  
"Dean?!"  
  
Dean risks a glance and his stupid heart does a little bit of dubstep as he finds himself staring into Castiel's eyes. Instead of sadness, though, all he feels is anger and maybe a tiny bit of affection.  
  
"Your orders?" he presses out through gritted teeth.  
  
 _Seriously, Cas? I didn't expect you to just go get yourself a new date because I cancelled. But...maybe I shouldn't have expected anything in the first place.  
  
_ "Two gin tonic, please," says the guy across from Castiel. "Dean, this is my b-"   
  
"Yeah, okay, I'm gonna get you your drinks." Hastily, Dean moves back behind the counter and fumbles with the bottles on the shelf. Once he manages to fill two glasses with the desired drinks, he carefully carries them over to Cas and the blond guy.   
  
Cas' hand pins his own down on the table before he can disappear again.  
  
"Dean, what's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Dean," Cas warns.  
  
"Nevermind, alright, Cas. Just go have fun with your," he glares at Cas' friend, "date." There's a long moment of silence before the blonde man bursts out laughing.   
  
"What's so funny?" Dean growls.  
  
"Dean, this is my brother Gabriel!" Castiel shouts angrily, his forehead crinkling.   
  
"Yeah, well, I thought he was your boyfriend." Crossing his arms in front of his chest just to keep his hands busy, Dean stands there, feeling ridiculous. "Even if he was, there is no reason for you to act like that."  
  
"Oh really, Cas? Then what about our date?" Dean can hear his own voice becoming louder gradually. And so does Cas'. "It was you who said that it wasn't supposed to be a  _date!"_  
  
Growling, Dean leans in and slams both his hands on the table plate, making the glasses shake dangerously hard. "Fine, then make it a date."  
  
Castiel narrows his eyes until they're only tiny slits and the blue is almost completely hidden behind his eyelids. "Fine," he spits out. Dean and Cas stare at each other for an agonisingly slowly passing second, then Dean whips around and his bartender apron makes his leaving slightly laughable.  
  
Gabriel is still cackling by the time Dean goes back to simply pouring drinks.  
  
The warm feeling in Dean's chest hasn't entirely vanished and he can only barely keep himself from flailing his arms because of the sudden rush of energy. Even though he can't take his eyes off Castiel and the way the edge of his glass nudges his bottom lip whenever he holds it against his chin, he doesn't go back to where Cas and Gabriel are involved in a conversation.  
  
As Dean leaves The Roadhouse at around 1 in the morning, he's smiling and if the date, an actual date, is the reason, he's not the one to blame.  
  
  
********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
 _Heaven's Cup_ is pretty empty when Dean takes a seat at one of the small wooden tables. It's a warm day and the door of the coffeeshop is ajar, so the customers can feel the occasional small blows of air that make the heat a little bit more bearable.  
  
He sits up straight and squares his shoulders. Like that he's gonna seem interested. A few seconds later, though, he leans back in his chair to seem more relaxed. Dean ends up shifting in his seat non-stop, the waiter even gives him a strange look.  
  
 _Come on, Cas, show up already.  
  
_ Minutes pass and Dean changes his sitting position every time he hears feet on the lithic steps, but it's never Cas. This morning he'd found a folded note in his locker saying  **3:15 pm?** and when Dean had entered Castiel's class, he'd nodded at his teacher.  
  
It was fucking settled.  
  
Dean quickly glances over at the grandfather clock that accords perfectly with the ambience of the cafe. It's 3:16 and he feels somewhat stupid for feeling hurt. Surely Cas has a reason for being late, or maybe the clock is just a few minutes fast.  
  
But then it's 3:20 and 3:25 and just as Dean is willing to leave, someone stumbles into the cafe with his hair messed up and his tie tied messily.  
  
"Cas," Dean grins and rises to his feet, then quickly sits back down because what the hell was he going to do? Hug Cas? Kiss him even? Probably not.  
  
"I'm sorry for my belatedness, Mr. Crowley wanted to talk to me."  
  
Right now, Dean really could care less why Cas is late, it only matters that he now sits across from him. The urge to take his hand is almost overwhelming. "Ah, nevermind," Dean says therefore. Castiel's eyes move over his face and are about to move on to his shoulders, but then suddenly stop at his cheek.  
  
"Dean?" Cas asks, his voice hoarse.  
  
"Hm?"   
  
Dean looks up from the menu he's been going through. "What's that on your cheek?" Reflexively, Dean lifts a hand to where Cas is pointing and freezes as he touches the bruise John left there yesterday. "Oh. That."  
"Yes, that, who did this to you?"  
  
"I tripped and couldn't catch my fall," Dean mumbles, hiding his face behind the bill of fare.  
  
All of a sudden, Cas' arm dashes forward and he's seconds away from punching Dean right in the face as Dean catches his fist. "Liar," Cas simply determines and pulls his hand back, his mouth a hard line.   
  
 _That smartass.  
  
_ "I don't - I really don't want to talk about it."  
  
 _Because then I'd have to open up completely and I can't do that. Not yet. Not here and not like this.  
  
_ Castiel's face tenses sharply, but then, as he looks back at his counterpart, softens. "As you wish, Dean," he smiles and neither his words nor that small smile should make his stomach bounce. The waiter takes their orders and Castiel remembered the way Dean likes his coffee perfectly. Black - no milk, no sugar.  
  
As wrong as this here might be, Dean has never been happier in his entire life. The moment is perfect.  
  
Cas leans in slightly and rests his elbow on the table, propping his head on his hand, and fixes his gaze directly on Dean. "So, since this is a date ...."  
  
"Yeah?" Dean asks as Castiel stops mid-sentence.  
  
"What's your favorite color?"  
  
 _Oh lord, no.  
  
_ "Uh, grey maybe?"  
  
Dean doesn't know what he'd expected, but Castiel throwing his head back and filling the store with one of his rare real laughters was definitely not part of it. Cas just can't seem to be able to stop laughing and it's so infectious that Dean ends up nearly crying from the contraction of his midriff.  
  
Somehow, while sipping their coffees, Dean's and Cas' hands converge on the table plate and then their fingertips are touching, just barely, but the sensation sparks like an electric shock through Dean's body.  
  
There is a smile on Castiel's lips as he lowers his head, breaking the eye contact.  
  
"You know, my brother Gabriel said that I should introduce you to my other brother, Michael."  
  
And if Dean thought that only people in movies spit out their drink, he was wrong. His coffee drenches the sleeve of Castiel's button down and he reaches out to dry it with his own shirt and all of a sudden Castiel's fingers are linked with his.   
  
"I can see you're not really happy with the idea of it, I'm sorry, I should not have mentioned it."  
  
Dean just shakes his head in disbelief.  
  
 _Introduce me? Like what? Oh yeah, that's Dean, the student I fuck on occasion. We've been on some kind of angry date once.  
  
_ "My parents," Castiel suddenly switches the topic, "died when I was 14. From that day, Michael and Gabriel took care of me and even now they still think they need to protect me or something." Dean says nothing, just listens. "I grew up in Florida, but Gabriel always wanted to live in Kansas for some reason, I don't know why and I could care less if I'm completely honest with myself, but - "  
  
Cas hesitates, chewing and sucking on his lip, and lets his eyes sweep up at Dean.  
  
"- I'm really happy we moved."  
  
Silence. Utter silence except for the sound Dean's heart makes as it explodes. Dean tightens his fingers around Cas' to assure him that everything's alright.  
  
They're halfway through their coffee as something brushes Dean's leg. Frowning, Dean peers down and - _Jesus Christ -_ is that Cas' foot? That sneaky bastard had somehow managed to force his leg in between Dean's own and now he smiles smugly as he can tell that Dean noticed.  
  
Dean is close to say something about how Cas can't do that - not here, not in public, but then finds he doesn't even care. Instead, he starts talking about Sammy. "He's so smart, you know? I'm sure he's going to be a lawyer once, but what if I can't afford college? I mean, it's really -"  
  
"Dean," Cas interrupts, "why don't you ever talk about yourself?"  
  
The question is so unexpected, Dean just stares dumbly at Castiel. "Because I - Well, it's because, uhm - I don't know," he admits eventually. "You do not think very highly of yourself, Dean, do you?"  
  
Dean can feel his jaw clench. Where is Cas going with this, that's not how he wanted the date to end.  
  
"Might be."  
  
"Have you been told that you aren't as good as someone else?" Dry laughter bubbles in his throat and he shakes his head, at least he can't talk like this.  
  
"Is that why you did this to yourself?" Castiel asks and traces the back of Dean's hand with his thumb. "Did what?"   
  
And then Castiel flips their hands over, exposing a thin, straight scar.  
  
 _Oh my - no way!  
  
_ "Cas, I'm - I got that on Halloween for Christ's sake! I was wearing metal cuffs and one of them had a tiny spike standing out and - did you think - Cas!"  
  
Castiel's face flushes and he pulls his hand away to rub at the back of his neck. "My apologies, Dean, I didn't mean to accuse you of, well, I'm very sorry." They spend the rest of their time in silence, sharing long looks over the edge of their cups and Cas' leg gently pressing against his knee, but it's rather calming than anything else.  
  
"The bill, sir," the waiter says as Castiel gives him a well-directed look.  
  
Dean leans down to get a note from his bag, but as he comes back up, the man in the green apron is behind the counter again. "Cas?" he asks, growling under his breath. "Yes?" comes the answer, all innocent and wide blue eyes. "Did you just pay for my fricking coffee?"  
  
"Well, yes."  
  
"Cas, I have my own money, you don't have to treat me like your girlfriend," he pouts. That pulls a smirk from Cas' lips. "Don't worry, I assure you there's nothing wrong with your genitals, you definitely are a boy," he says just loud enough that anyone paying attention could understand.   
  
The girl at the table closest to them chokes on her bagel.  
  
"Allow me to walk you home," Cas says quietly as they stand outside the coffeshop, the small doorbell jingling from a soft breeze.  
  
"Sure," Dean smiles, but doesn't look into Castiel's direction. The walking is even more awkward than sitting in the cafe, at least until Cas inches closer and closer. Their shoulders are brushing and there's an undeniable tension between them, even a blind man could see that, Dean bets.  
  
Dean wishes he could invite Castiel in for coffee, but considering they just had some, it would be a little too obvious. "I've uhm, I thought - Here." A piece of paper finds its way into Dean's hand and he unfolds it. On it, there is a phone number.  
  
"If you ever...need to call," Cas explains lamely.  
  
But Dean can't be bothered listening, he's still staring at the figures and telling himself that he would not text Cas the second he'd unplug his phone from the charger later on. "Thanks, Cas, I'll uhm message you - maybe."  
  
They turn into Oak Tree Lane and Dean knows he has to do something.  
  
"Thanks for the date, Cas."  
  
"You didn't seem to enjoy yourself, Dean."  
  
"I did. But, just to make sure, we could maybe, like, try it again? Some other time?"  
  
A smile spreads across Castiel's face and he nods, the corners of his mouth still twitching even after the smile has mostly disappeared.  
  
"I'll just - you know," Dean mumbles, pointing over at his house. He suddenly feels five years old, doesn't know how to form one single sentence. Being with Cas has never been this hard. They've kissed before, hell, they even have fucked before, but this is new.  
  
And as Castiel leans in further, Dean closes his eyes and kisses him.  
  
They pull away too soon for Dean's liking and Castiel should be damned to hell for licking his lips afterwards, but Dean is so caught up in the moment, he actually trips over the curb. "I feel like the girl," he complains.  
  
"Don't make me prove you different, Dean," Castiel teases.  
  
"Night, Cas!" Dean shouts, almost on the front doorstep. "Goodnight, Dean."  
  
  
 **Dean: Just 2 make sure this is u: Night, Cas**

**Castiel: I assure you, Dean, this is my cellular phone number. Goodnight to you, too.**

**Dean: Can't believe u typed cellular out**

**Castiel: But so did you.**

Dean doesn't know what to reply to that quick-witted comment, so he just rolls over on his side, closes his eyes and goes to sleep with the feeling of Cas' fingertips against his own filling his mind.  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh, I'm a little self-conscious about this chapter, so please let me know if you liked it in the comments c:


	10. Worthless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV changes from Dean's to Cas' and back to Dean's in this chapter

"Don't think you mean anything."  
  
It's nothing Dean hasn't heard before, so he just squares his shoulders. A weak attempt, he's aware of that, but he doesn't have the strength to do much more, really.  
  
Ever since their fight at the hospital, John has treated him worse than ever before. The dishwasher fucks up - it's Dean's fault. The electricity bill is too high - it's Dean's fault. There's not enough beer in the fridge - it's Dean's fault. It's raining - that's also Dean's fault. Of course it is. Because now, John has another reason to let out his aggression.  
  
"Don't you ever think," John growls and slams his fist on the kitchen table, "anyone could love you. _Ever."_

Now that hurts. "Is there anything, you hear me,  _anything_ you don't fuck up?" The lamp from the counter misses Dean's face only for a few inches. It meets the wall and falls next to Dean's feet, where there's three broken plates and one of Sam's books already.  
  
"How can you wake up every morning?" John yells and opens the cupboard with such force, the door breaks out of its hinges. "How dare you wake up? How are you even able to, knowing you killed your mother?" That actually makes Dean cringe and he rubs the heel of his hand against his forehead, from where a thin trail of blood is running down over his temple. "I didn't-"  
  
Dean's insides crumple up and every intake of breath suddenly becomes harder and harder until he has to force himself to keep breathing through his nose.  
  
 _It wasn't my fault, it was NOT my fault, it was not-_  
  
"It was all your fault. Why'd you leave the food on the stove?" But Dean can't answer. He can't answer because his father knows what actually happened, he just made up a new truth that he believes in since it makes him look like the fucking saint he's not and Dean like the terrible son.  
  
The bowl comes literally out of nowhere and Dean doesn't have the time to duck away. It makes acquaintance with his shoulder and even though he curses under his breath, he's grateful as hell it didn't hit his forehead. Unfortunately, Dean never really was blessed, so the saucer meeting his face only seconds later isn't too much of a surprise.  
  
Clenching his hands into fists, Dean presses his lips into a hard line and stands up straight to take the next puch or plate or insult that might come from John, who now is throwing plate after plate against the wall to Dean’s right.  
  
“I wish you weren’t born!”  
  
A strangled noise escapes from Dean’s mouth and he takes a step back, his head painfully bumping against the shelf installed to the wall behind him.  
  
“Don’t say that, please,” he mumbles. John whips around, strikes out and tosses another plate at his son. “Get out.” Dean is thunderstruck, eyes wide and burning. “John.”  
  
When John said he’d disown Dean, he hadn’t expected his father to actually mean it or do something about it. He’d expected John to get home and start drinking again, which he did, but he also made sure to make Dean’s life as hard as possible. “Get out!”  
  
His father’s voice clings to Dean’s clothes, making every step almost impossible as he forces his legs to work and walk upstairs. “Why don’t you fucking move out, you worthless piece of trash?!” is the last thing Dean hears before he can escape into the safety of his room.  
  
A minute later he hears a hesitant knocking on the door and then Sam’s small voice calling his name. “Dean? You in there?”  
Dean knocks on the wooden door once to answer since his breathing is unsteady and he’s running danger of bursting into tears just any second. “Can I come in?” When Sam doesn’t get an answer, he just starts talking to Dean through the closed door.  
  
“Dean, I’m sorry, I heard what Dad said. You and me both know nothing he said is true. Dean, you’ve always been here for me when he wasn’t and Mom’s death - it’s not your fault, you know that.”  
  
Even though Dean is the older Winchester, Sam always knows what to say. Except for today it just isn’t working. Dean had always blamed himself for his mother’s death and he’d always _known_ that John did, too, but hearing it over and over again for the past days – it’s been so hard to keep telling himself that it wasn’t.  
  
He’d tried everything from listening to music to watching porn or letting Castiel distract him, but nothing had worked. Whenever he’d gotten home, John had been waiting for him. “Hoped you wouldn’t make it back.”  
  
That’s what he said every time Dean stepped inside the house. Every single time and Dean’s fed up now.  
  
“Come on, Dean, open the door, we can –“  
  
Sam’s voice dies down as there are heavy steps coming down the corridor and then Sam makes a weird, small noise in the back of his throat. For a moment there’s silence, then... _Smack.  
_ “Dad?” Dean can actually _hear_ the tears in Sam’s voice, the disappointment, the disbelief.  
  
John had never hit Sam before, never hurt his precious little boy. His Sammy.  
  
That’s enough for Dean to stand up, open the door and push past Sam to stand protectively in front of his little brother, who’s touching his left cheek and wincing slightly.  
  
“If you want to hit anyone, hit me, Sammy hasn’t done anything.”  
  
John is more than happy about the offer because the next thing Dean feels is the burn of his father’s palm on his cheek and then his knuckles on his jaw. The iron taste of blood fills his mouth and as his tongue darts out to lick his lips quickly, Dean can feel that his bottom lip is split.  
  
“Sammy, go to your room and lock the door,” Dean orders, his voice totally calm.  
  
With another small noise that might just have broken Dean’s heart, Sam hurries to obey and Dean only breathes when he can hear the key click in the lock. _Good, Sam is safe now.  
  
_ “How dare you – You worthless – I will never _ever-_ ,” John starts ranting, but Dean already is on his way downstairs and as he slams the front door shut behind to cut off his father, he wishes he’d been just five seconds faster, so he wouldn’t have to hear the last three words John screamed.  
  
 _Hope you die. Hope you die. Hope you die._  
  
  
********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
Castiel runs his hands through his hair and groans the next second. He's messed it up again. His foot is going numb slowly, but he doesn't want to get up, not yet.  
  
Dean might come any second, even though that's not really a reason for him not to get up from the uncomfortable chair he's been sitting on since he's arrived at the cabin. Well, maybe there is a reason. Maybe he has something important to tell Dean.  
  
He glances down at his watch. The watch hand moves closer and closer to 12. Dean might knock any moment and there's something in Castiel's insides that tells him he's really fucking happy. They haven't been on another date or talked about going on one, but for now the memory of the one they went on is enough to carry Cas through every day and every sleepless minute.  
  
The thought of Dean's fingertips against his own alone is enough to make him smile.   
  
And what really helps him through all the conversations he'd had with Gabriel about Dean are the occasional texts Dean sends him. Mostly they're just  **Night, Cas** or **See you later** but there had been one time that Dean sent him a text that read:  **Really liked the coffee just saying.**  
  
His favorite part about the date probably was when Dean had smiled at him right after the kiss.  
  
Before Castiel can get lost in the thoughts about Dean and the way Dean's fingers feel when they're interlocked with his own, someone goes like a bull at a gate. Literally.  
  
The door clunks shut the next second and the large room is filled with muffled curses, the sound of clothes being removed and frustrated groans. Slightly annoyed, Castiel rises from his chair.  
  
 _Probably just another teen couple hoping for a quickie in someone else's house. Gonna have to get them out.  
  
_ Instead of two persons, there's only one in the room. His freckled chest is heaving as Dean nearly trips in his attempt to get out of his pants, his shirt already forgotten somewhere near the door. Even through gritted teeth, Castiel can hear Dean cussing as his belt buckle won't do what Dean wants.  
  
"Dean?" Cas asks cautiously, frowning at the younger boy.  
  
"Hey, Cas," Dean grins and seems somewhat happy as his pants drop to the floor. "Dean," Castiel repeats and steps forwards. Dean's chest and neck are flushed and he's in an incomprehensible hurry. But Castiel's fears soon are allayed as Dean has his arms around Cas' neck, their lips pressed together. If he's honest with himself, Castiel doesn't think he's ever seen Dean this eager before.  
  
Dean's pupils are lust-blown and his cheeks just as colored as his flushed chest. "Mmh, Cas," Dean breathes against his neck and actually  _forces_ him to go backwards until they both land on the mattress, which creaks from their combined weight. "Dean, are you drunk?" Cas wants to know. He gets another long kiss as response and, no, Dean definitely isn't drunk.   
  
In fact, he just seems to be really turned on.  
  
There's hot breath against Cas' neck and with Dean's hand clutching and tugging at his shirt and buttons and fucking  _everywhere,_ it's impossible for Cas to say the things he'd wanted to say to Dean.  
  
"Cas," Dean whines and grinds up against the other man's hips. "Dean, what's-" And again Castiel is shut up by a hungry kiss. Probably he should mind it, but he most definitely doesn't. It's not what they usually do, but hey, since when do they aim for normal?  
  
The grinds become more and more desperate and Dean's hips stutter. "God, please, Cas." Those breathless gasps coming from the back of Dean's throat make it so hard for Castiel to question Dean's behavior.  _"Please, Cas!"_  
Just like that, Dean erases every rational thought Cas might have had.  
  
Soft hands slide under Castiel's shirt, brush across his chest and find a hold on his shoulders while Cas shrugs his jacket off, followed shortly by his shirt. Dean's lips are still pressed against his own and as Castiel attempts to pull away to catch his breath, Dean makes a whimpering noise and struggles to keep their lips locked together. "Dean," Cas murmurs against the younger man's mouth.  
  
Something about the way Dean looks at him makes Castiel's insides jump.  
  
Almost lovingly, Cas cards his hand through Dean's hair and moves both of them upwards on the bed. "Want me to take care of you?" He's close to missing the choked out "Yes", but then it's all clumsy hands and rocking hips. Dean manages to get one hand down Castiel's pants before he can kick them off the bed.  
  
"Dean," Castiel hisses, closing his eyes as Dean's knee brushes up against his crotch.   
  
A groan makes its way out of Cas' mouth and he firmly grips Dean's wrists, pinning them above his head to the mattress. He can see another bit of green disappear into the black of Dean's pupils as they widen even more. Castiel sets up a rough rhythm of grinds against Dean's hips. They're both left in only their boxers and the air around them soon is filled with that fucking tension and Dean's small gasps and stifled moans.  
  
Writhing frustrated underneath him, Dean wraps his legs around Cas' waist and locks his ankles together. "Dammit, give it to me, Cas."  
  
And as Castiel's eyes sweep up at him, he bites his lip in a way that should not be allowed.  
  
Only a minute later, Cas can't really remember how they got there so quickly, he starts working Dean open, who is breathing shallowly. Usually, he's more vocal, but right now he just seems fine with making an occasional muffled noise into Cas' neck.  
  
He can feel Dean rocking back on his fingers with hard rolls of his hips and the last bit of Dean's defense crumples down as his fingers brush that one special spot. "More," Dean whimpers, his fingers curling and uncurling around the covers. And Castiel gives more.  
  
Three fingers disappear inside the boy sprawled out under him, a soft moan falling from his red-kissed lips. Leaning down to nip at the sensitive skin around Dean's nipple, Castiel twists his fingers inisde Dean. According to the surprised gasp coming from Dean's throat, he must have hit just the right places.  
  
"Now, Cas," Dean bites back a moan, so his voice doesn't slip.  
  
Castiel feels dizzy, heat running through his veins and every nerve overstimulated, like his whole body is throbbing. His hand totally is  _not_ shaking when he slicks himself up - ever since Dean had said he'd want to feel everything, condoms were no longer required and neither of them really talked about it.   
  
Dean is nearly painfully tight, clenching around Cas, and as Castiel pushes into him, Dean arches his back off the mattress, his hips grinding down to meet Cas'. If Castiel sighs Dean's name as he slides home, Dean is too far gone to notice. His eyelids flutter shut, long lashes brushing over freckled cheeks, and Dean bares his throat for Castiel to kiss and suck on.  
  
He can't leave any mark there, though.  
  
Castiel stills for a moment to let Dean adjust, but Dean doesn't approve, he greedily rocks his hips, making a frustrated sound as Castiel's hips don't give him what he wants. "Cas," he pleads and there's something odd about his voice, like it's pressed out.  
  
"Fucking move!"  
  
As Castiel eventually starts thrusting, Dean's head lolls back, a content, little gasp falls from his lips. At some point Dean begins to beg for  _More. Harder. Right there, Cas._ And even if Castiel does the best he can, hips snapping forward and striking Dean's prostate, Dean keeps pleading for more, no matter how wrecked his voice sounds already, no matter if another breathless groan is punched out of his lungs.  
  
Biting his lip, Castiel trails his index finger down between Dean's legs, teasing at the rim of his hole, and Dean mewls, cheeks flushing redder. Then Dean's body swallows the additional finger and the overstimulation and feeling of being filled up are too much.  
  
Dean comes with a sobbed outcry over his stomach and chest, Castiel following not long after. Little galaxies of stars bloom behind Castiel's eyelids as both him and Dean tremble in aftershock, Dean's fingers threaded in his hair and legs still clamping around his waist, one heel digging into the small of Cas' back. Pressing a gentle kiss to Dean's forehead, Castiel pulls out and lays down next to him. It's nice having a warm body to snuggle up to, though Cas is pretty sure Dean would damn him to hell if he'd ever call aftercare cuddling. God forbid.  
  
Cuddling probably isn't manly enough.  
  
But the second his fingers brush across Dean's lower abdomen to wrap around his waist, Dean flinches away. Confused, Cas lifts his head and squints suspiciously at the other man, raising an eyebrow as though questioning Dean's motion. "Don't do that."  
  
"I don't understand, Dean..." Castiel is exhausted and wishes very much just to hold Dean in his arms and rest for a while until it's time for him to go.   
  
Dean rises up onto his knees, a pained noise tumbling from his lips before he starts speaking again.  
  
"Don't treat me like that. It's not what I'm here for, right? Why do you treat me like I'm something more than your fucking worthless sub? Why, Castiel? Can't you just fucking stop it? It's not like you would care about me or anything!"  
  
"Dean, I -"  
  
"Don't. Just fucking don't. I don't need you to tell me that I'm not worth it, okay?"  
  
The mattress creaks when Dean half jumps, half falls off the bed to stumble around, fetching his boxer briefs. "Dean, talk to me, what happened?" Fully awake again and no longer caring about the mess they'd made or the fact that he actually would prefer to just - fuck it -  _cuddle_ with Dean, Cas gets up as well and wraps his fingers around Dean's wrists to stop him from getting dressed any further than his boxers.  
  
"Nothing, I just know that's what I am."  
  
 _What have I done? Shit.  
  
_ "Dean, if it's anything I've caused, you have to tell me. Please, did I do anything to make you believe I would think of you as worthless? Out of all the things? Worthless?" He can't even hide the disbelief in his voice and he doesn't much want to either, really. He just wants Dean to know that he's so much more than just his sub, Castiel just doesn't find the right words to express himself.  
  
"No, Cas, you didn't fucking do _anything!"_  
  
Castiel gives a gentle tug and Dean staggers backwards into his arms, then Cas dips his head to nuzzle Dean's neck while lowering both of them to the bed again until Dean's sitting in his lap. "Let me go, Cas!"  
  
"No, Dean." Castiel kisses the side of Dean's head and holds his hand as they twitch to clench into tight, angry fists. "Dean, just tell me what happened." He can feel Dean tremble and he shakes his head stubbornly, so Castiel peppers Dean's cheek, his neck and shoulders with featherlight kisses until the boy in his lap has calmed down enough to speak properly. "Stop it, Cas! I don't deserve your kindness!"  
  
It hurts. It hurts hearing Dean say these words and it hurts knowing that he thinks they're true. Cas wonders what on earth could make him think that.   
  
"You deserve so much more, Dean," he whispers reassuringly and kisses him once. "You're not worthless, you're so fucking much more-" Twice. "- you're smart and talented." Three kisses. "Don't ever think you're not worth it because-"  
  
"STOP!" Dean screams.  
  
This time, Castiel stops briefly. But only to run a hand through Dean's hair, trying to calm him down. "My life, okay?" Dean's voice sounds so small, so broken and absolutely nothing like him. "Excuse me, what?" "My fucking life, Cas. That's what happened."  
  
Rocking back and forth, his arms still wrapped around Dean, Castiel starts kissing Dean's skin again. "Dean, what made you think you're worthless?"  
  
Dean whips around all of a sudden and narrows his eyes. "You don't fucking know what it's like, you, with your damn house and fucking lawn sprinkler and shit. You don't know what it's like to know that you're guilty of your mother's death. She's dead. Because of me. And everyone knows and that's why I can't be loved, that's why -"  
  
A strangled sob slips out between Dean's lips. "- I'm worthless."  
  
Castiel cups Dean’s cheeks, pressing a soft kiss to his lips and shakes his head. “I don’t know where you’re getting this from, but you’re not guilty of anything here, Dean. And you certainly aren’t worthle-“  
  
“Shut up! You don’t know anything,” Dean yells, writhing to get away from Cas, who simply tightens his arms around him. “You don’t have the right to say such nice things to me, Cas!”  
  
“Dean, I assure you that I most definitely-“  
  
“Fucking. That’s all I’m good for right? I’m not even good enough for a second date, am I? I know, okay? So, just let go.”  
Castiel is clever enough not to mention that a second date was one of the things he’d wanted to discuss with Dean today. Instead, he places light kisses everywhere his mouth can reach while tears start spilling from Dean’s eyes.  
  
“You just don’t get it Cas, you don’t know what it’s like to have a father who hates you. Who wants to see you dead. He tells me he wished I didn’t make it back every time I come home. Do you know what – what it’s like?” Now Dean really is crying. Tears stream down his cheeks and fall onto Cas’ chest and shoulders. His breath hitches in his throat as he tries desperately to stifle a sob and ends up hiccuping.  
  
“I don’t know why you don’t just – why don’t you just let me go?”  
  
Sure, Castiel could tell him everything. He could tell him about his feelings and he could tell him about the little things he loves about Dean. Like the fact that Dean always scrunches up his nose after laughing or that he adores the way Dean reads, one lip worried between his teeth and totally focussed.  
  
He doesn’t, though. Castiel just runs his hands up and down Dean’s arms and feels the small goosebumps there.  
  
“Cas, stop.”  
  
Dean is crying harder now, shaking from the effort of keeping his voice under control, of trying not to show his weakness. Castiel gently lays Dean down on the bed, hovering above him and kissing his forehead just below his hairline. Maybe there is a way to show Dean how _much_ he’s worth without actually saying it. He plasters every inch of Dean’s face, of his tearstained cheeks, with kisses. “You are beautiful, Dean Winchester,” he murmurs against Dean’s damp lips, "you're so fucking beautiful."  
  
When he’s about to move from his jawline to his neck, Dean chokes something out. But because it’s stifled by his sobs, Cas doesn’t understand. He keeps on moving his lips across Dean’s neck, over his throat and to the hollow between his collarbones.  
  
That’s when Dean speaks up again and this time, Castiel can understand him.  
  
“Coda,” Dean whimpers.  
  
Immediately, Castiel pulls back, he knows he must have crossed a line or two or a thousand. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he says, pulling Dean up into his arms and cradling his head gently. “Cas, I just-“ Dean starts, but another sob shakes his whole body and he clings helplessly to Cas, sniffling a little.  
  
“I just want to be loved.”  
  
Dean whispers the words against the skin of Cas’ neck and each syllable burns its way down Cas’ spine, his vertebrae are on fire, his entire body is.  
  
 _Be loved. But that’s exactly what I do.  
  
_ “Could you love me, Cas, could you?” Dean asks, his face still hidden and his shoulders absolutely tense.  
  
“Dean, I could –“ _love you with all I have. I already do._ He doesn’t say it, he just can’t get the words out. It doesn’t seem right, not considering what he’d wanted to tell Dean, which he can’t do now either.  
  
“Yes,” he states finally.  
  
If he thought that would calm Dean even the slightest, boy, was he wrong. Dean’s tears moisten his lips and run down Cas’ back. “Why can’t my dad love me, Cas? What have I done wrong?”  
  
“Nothing, Dean, you did nothing wrong.” Castiel can hear a small sigh right beneath his ear and then Dean’s wet lips press a sloppy kiss to his neck. It’s nothing like heated or needy, it’s almost shy.  
  
“You have – you have pretty nice eyes, Cas,” Dean speaks all of a sudden, his voice tentative as though he’s afraid of saying something wrong. To spare Dean any embarrassment, Cas smiles. “You have very beautiful eyes yourself, Dean.”  
  
Dean flinches at the fourth word, his hands twitching.  
  
“Believe me, you are. Not just your body, but your soul, Dean. You are – I don’t know how to express it. But if I know one thing for certain, then it’s that you are as far away from _worthless_ as one could be. And I mean it.”  
  
And Dean collapses in his arms, head falling forward onto Castiel’s shoulder, knees failing him, and he curls up against Cas’ chest, a warm bundle of tears and mumbled words of affection. “Let me stay, Cas,” Dean asks quietly after a while of just breathing heavily against Castiel’s skin.  
  
As much as Castiel hates to say the following words, he somehow manages to reply, “I can’t Dean, you have classes tomorrow.”  
  
“Screw them, screw them all. I don’t care. I just – Cas, I need you.”  
  
 _I need you, too, Dean.  
  
_ These three words – _I need you –_ mean something more, they both know it, but don’t mention it. “I can’t let you stay, as much as I want to. I’m sorry.”  
  
But apparently Dean understands, because he wipes the back of his hand across his puffy eyes and nods, forcing a smile on his swollen lips. “O-okay, Cas.” He gets up clumsily, as if his knees are made from jelly, and gets dressed as quickly as his trembling hands allow. Inside Castiel thousands of needles pierce his heart and he tries really _hard_ not to do anything about the urge to pull Dean back onto the bed and hold him until he smiles again, but a real smile this time.  
  
“So, I guess, I’ll see you tomorrow then?”  
  
Almost awkwardly, Dean runs a hand trough his hair and rocks back and forth on his heels. With a smile on his lips, Castiel gets up and closes the distance between him and Dean to kiss him once more. “Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Dean doesn’t move. He just stands still, chewing on his lower lip. “We should go on another date,” he blurts out then. “We should.”  
  
A grin spreads across Dean’s face, erasing the sorrow from his features. “Thank you, Cas,” he mutters as he presses another kiss to Castiel’s mouth. “What for?” He can guess, but he wants to hear it from Dean. Just this one time he allows himself to be selfish.  
  
“For making me feel like I’m worth it, I really – well – appreciate that.”  
  
“You’re gonna be late,” Castiel smiles instead of a proper answer, but Dean is already out of the cabin.  
  
The only thing he leaves behind is his scent on the sheets.  
  
  
********************************************************************************************************************  
  
When Dean wakes up, his head is throbbing.  
  
It had rained yesterday and he didn't want to return home until he was sure John was asleep in either his bed or somewhere around the living room. So he'd sat on the curb in the pouring rain, smiling at his feet and feeling stupidly happy.  
  
He groans as he gets dressed and sprints down the stairs to maybe force down an energy bar because he knows he should probably eat something, even though he really doesn't feel like it. His forehead feels too hot even to Dean's own hands and he thinks he might just have caught a fever, but right now he just can think about Cas' eyes and that he has to thank Cas properly.  
  
For making him feel good for the first time in a long while.  
  
Even now, with a good 7 hours of sleep, he still can't believe what happened yesterday afternoon. Castiel had said he could love him and he'd used his safeword; this had been the most confusing meeting.   
  
By the time Dean waves his hand weakly at Jamie, who's already waiting outside the huge entrance door, his head is nearly killing him and the door handle feels as cold as ice as he touches it. "Dean! Yo!" Jamie grins dumbly and grips the back of Dean's neck to pull him in for the totally manly-kind-of-hug-thing they always do.  
  
"Woah, you're hot."  
  
Dean somehow manages to give a cocky smirk. "Aw, that's sweet, but I know that already."  
  
"Christ, Dean, stop fucking with me! Your skin is way too hot. Why are you even here? You should be in bed and drink some weird kind of herbal tea. You have a fever."  
  
Huffing, Dean pushes past his best friend and inside the building. He almost crashes into Lisa and under different conditions, he would have apologized, but he's trying really hard not to collapse in the middle of the hallway. Secretly, he thanks God that he makes it to his first class - Biology II - without falling down the stairs and breaking his neck or leg.   
  
He only would have to wait 3 more hours until he could see Cas. Of course there is the option of going to Castiel's office and seeing him, but Dean doesn't know when or if he'd be there and he can't afford passing out before he's talked to him at least for a few minutes.  
  
So he suffers his way through sentences, words and syllables until the bell gives him the break he needs so desperately. The bathroom mirror isn't very friendly today. It shows Dean a pale face and flushed cheeks. Groaning, he storms out of the boys' restrooms to his next class.  
  
Art History. Castiel. Finally.  
  
As he enters the classroom, though, nobody's present. Neither Castiel nor any early student.   
  
 _Probably copying a paper.  
  
_ "Did you hear about him?" a voice coming from the door whispers, followed by a high-pitched giggle and a gasp. "No, you're lying!"  
  
Dean looks up slowly, his head about to explode. If only he knew what the three girls looking directly at him are talking about. "I swear it's him."  
  
"But he's Dean Winchester. That's not possible!"  
  
His eyes flutter shut for a few seconds and by the time he opens them again, he blinks up into the face of a man that definitely is  _not_ Castiel.  
  
"Where's Ca- Mr. Novak?" Dean wants to know.  
  
"My name is Mr. Jefferson and I'll be your substitute teacher for the rest of the year." All air is punched out of Dean's lungs and as he finds his voice again, it sounds broken. "Where is Mr. Novak?" he repeats his previous question.  
  
The man named Mr. Jefferson smirks and turns around, his hands clasped behind his back.  
  
"Fired. He's been in an inappropriate,  _sexual_ relationship -"  
  
Jefferson whips around, glaring right at Dean, his small, brown eyes narrowing and the corners of his mouth twitching deviously.   
  
"- with one of his students."

  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? Let me know c:


	11. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean visits Castiel to talk to him despite his fever.

Dean falls.  
  
Hard.  
  
The side of his head painfully bumps against the steel of the closest locker. It takes all his strength left to get up again and stumble down the hallway.  
  
He's left class immediately, didn't care about what everyone would think, just had to get out. Everything is fucked up now anyway. Cas had been fired because of  _them._ And as much as he wants to blame it all on himself, he can't. Cas wants him and he wants Cas, and even if both of them had known that students and their teachers weren't allowed to have a sexual relationship, they _both_ had been willing to take the risk of getting caught. Unintentionally maybe, but they hadn't cared.  
  
Suddenly, Dean's vision becomes blurred again and he can feel his head throb angrily.  
  
Somehow, he doesn't really know how he manages to get down the stairs without tripping and breaking his bones, he gets into his car. The glass of the window is nicely cool and Dean rests his aching head against it and allows himself to close his eyes for five seconds, that turn out to be five minutes.  
  
With his eyes still closed, Dean fumbles with the keyring in the pocket of his jeans. As he finally manages to get it out, he drops it into the footwell area.   
  
"Dammit."  
  
Crouching down and not without bumping against the steering wheel, he picks it up again. He has to open his eyes to look for the keys and that's when he sees.   
  
Between empty jewel cases and crumpled papers are Castiel's socks. The black ones he'd wanted to return ages ago as it seems.   
  
 _Castiel's socks. Castiel. Right. Cas._  
  
Dean takes a few seconds to focus on the street in front of him and when he's positive he might drive without passing out, he starts the engine. The ride to the large, white house you could think of as mini-castle takes agonisingly long and Dean suffers his way through it. Every time there's a bump in the asphalt and the car makes a little jerk, Dean's head feels like it's torn in two.  
  
His hands are sweating and he feels hot and cold at the same time.  
  
All he wants to do is curl up, sleep and forget about Mr. Jefferson's smirk as he told him about Castiel being fired.   
  
The next thing Dean knows is that he's half walking, half crawling up the stairs to Cas' front door and banging weakly on it. He doubts Castiel will hear him knocking.  
  
Fortunately, though, the doors opens only a minute or so later. His head protests as he lifts it to catch a look at Castiel before he blacks out. Castiel says something in a loud voice and as much as Dean is happy to see Cas, he wishes he would shut the fuck up and just let him sleep.   
  
Because sleep is good, it's nice and safe.  
  
  
Sleep is  _not_ nice and safe.  
  
 _Black hands reach out to press everywhere. Against his temple, against the pulse at his wrists and against his heart. His heart is fragile, giving in under the brutal touch.  
  
_ _Eventually it breaks._  
  
 _Blood splattering everywhere, the strings holding his heart together are torn. Distantly there's a voice screaming out his name in pain. It sounds a little like Cas' voice. But that's not possible. Castiel is not here, he's not right next to Dean, holding him and saving him from the black, cruel hands breaking his heart._  
  
"Dean!"  
  
The ray of sun sun falling directly into his eyes makes Dean groan in discontent. "My heart," he chokes out and tugs on his shirt, sticky from sweat and literally taped to his chest.  
  
"Dean!"  
  
That definitely is Cas' voice and Dean forces himself to look up and, holy shit, yes, that's Cas. "Where am I?" Dean rasps, his fingers curling around Castiel's wrists that hold his head in his lap. "We're right in front of my house. You passed out, you have a fever, Dean."  
  
Right on cue, Dean's head starts throbbing again and he can feel himself break out in a sweat. "I slept, though."  
  
"Only for a minute or so. Here," Cas says softly and helps Dean to sit up, so he can snake an arm around the younger man's waist and pull him up onto his feet, "let me get you inside. You need sleep."  
  
"But, Cas, you're-"  
  
"Shh, we can talk later." Castiel helps Dean to stumble inside, but Dean's knees fail him and he almost ends up on the polished floor. But Castiel gets a hold of his shoulder and before Dean can protest, Cas picks him up bridal style and presses a kiss to his heated temple.  
  
"Cas, I can walk on my own." Even though Dean knows he actually  _can't,_ Castiel carrying him in his arms, pressed against his chest so tightly he can feel his heart beat against his ribcage, makes him feel weak, pathetic. "No, you certainly can't, Dean," Castiel insists and begins to walk upstairs.   
  
Dean is about to relax as Cas speaks again. "Besides, it's not like I haven't done this before. This here, right now, is basically just a déjà-vu."  
  
It's hot, so goddamn hot, and Dean's thoughts go in circles. For one, he wants to get out of his clothes, it wouldn't be embarrassing, it would be okay. Then again, he wants to talk to Cas about what happened and ask if he's okay. The fever makes the decision for Dean.  
  
He starts writhing and arching his back to get his shirt off, but it's sticking to his skin and not even one clumsy hand is enough. Something in his throat makes breathing incredibly hard for him and by the time they reach the end of the stairs and Castiel's bedroom, Dean is only just gasping.  
  
"It's okay, I've got you." Castiel's voice is low, right beneath his ear and makes him shudder.  
  
"Cas, I just-"  
  
"No more talking, Dean."  
  
As Castiel lowers Dean to his bed, his eyes are already closed and his head hurts like the little bitch it is. Then warm hands, that feel very cold to his fevered skin, roam over his body, peeling his shirt off his chest and taking off his shoes and socks before his pants follow the shirt.  
  
Even when he's just in his underwear, Dean still feels uncomfortably hot and despite his head nearly killing him, he draws his knees up to his chest and slips his fingers under the fabric of his boxers.  
  
The cold air feels good on his skin and a few seconds pass before Dean finally finds enough energy to slide his boxer briefs down his thighs, over his calves, and kick them off. There's a small gasp of surprise as Castiel returns to the bed, a glass of water in his hand.   
  
"I brought you - uhm - water..." Castiel mumbles and fixes his gaze on Dean's half-closed eyes. "Thanks," Dean breathes and gratefully accepts Cas pouring the cool liquid down his throat until he's completely out of breath and gasping again.   
  
Probably the kiss being planted on his forehead is just as inappropriate as the one pressed to his lips only seconds later. Dean can't afford the strength to kiss back, but Castiel doesn't seem to mind, he just puts the glass onto the bedside table and lifts the covers for Dean to crawl under.  
  
"Thanks, Cas, I really-" And then he's asleep.  
  
There might be a warm hand holding his, a gentle mouth pressing occasional kisses to his hot skin, but that might as well be Dean's imagination.   
  
  
 _He's back in the cafe, Heaven's Cup, and sits across from Cas, their fingers interlocked and Castiel gives him a small smile. Apart from the two of them the small store is completely empty, not a soul to be found. As the bell jingles, neither of them lifts his head, they're too busy staring at each other._  
  
 _Dean wants to lean in and press his lips against Cas'. It would be so easy, and Cas doesn't seem to dislike the idea of it because he's already closing his eyes, a slight smile on his lips. But before Dean can actually kiss Cas, he hears a noise from right outside the coffee shop. Sighing, he turns his head._  
  
 _Right in front of the window there's someone, head lowered, and all Dean can see is brown hair. It's impossible to tell if this is a boy or a girl._  
  
 _"Dean, hey," Castiel mumbles and takes his face in his soft, perfect hands._  
  
 _All of this, holding hands, long looks and even the kiss that follows, seems to be legitimate in this universe. Being with Castiel is so damn right, it's like they're made for each other. The silence is nice and Dean lets his foot brush against Castiel's for a second. They share another look over the table before Cas simply rises, leans across the table and kisses Dean. Properly this time._  
  
 _The scent of coffee fades until all Dean can smell is Cas' aftershave._  
  
 _"I love you, Dean," Castiel whispers against the skin right underneath Dean's ear. The words seem to be familiar to the version of Dean he is now._  
  
 _"I love you, too, Cas," Dean can hear himself say and he gets the words out without hesitation, like he's said them a million times before._  
  
 _Happiness drowns out the tingling feeling on his neck he's had since he's spotted that someone outside the store. Speaking of that person..._  
  
 _He or she is gone, simply vanished._  
  
  
Dean sighs happily and rolls onto his side, fisting his right hand in Castiel's sheets.  
  
  
 _Lisa kisses him._  
  
 _Dean doesn't mind it. He doesn't mind it at all. In fact, he's kissing her back, running his hands down her sides until they settle on her waist._  
  
 _It's all fine until he pulls away to catch his breath._  
  
 _Behind Lisa, eyes wide and disappointed and so fucking_  sad,  _stands Cas, frozen in place and his adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly. The gulp is actually audible._  
  
 _Suddenly, realization comes tumbling in and he takes his hands off Lisa's hips as if she was fire and he just burned himself by touching her. "Dean?" she whines and reaches out for his arm, but he's already out of her reach, sprinting to catch up with Cas, who's turned away and had started pacing down the street they'd been standing on._  
  
 _"Cas!" he yells._  
  
 _He doesn't get a proper answer, Castiel just lets out a stifled sob and keeps his back towards Dean. Even as Cas stops, hands resting on his knees to breathe, he doesn't turn to face Dean, just makes small, pained noises that go straight to Dean's heart, making it ache._  
  
 _"Cas, I didn't -"_  
  
 _But Castiel is gone. In front of him, there's Mr. Jefferson, smirking and knotting his fingers together, just like the bad guy in the movies. "He's gone."_  
  
 _Gone. Gone. Gone. It resonates in Dean's head until the word becomes so overwhelmingly loud that he has to sit down and press his hands to his temples._  
  
 _Gone, gone, gone, gone._  
  
 _Dean writhes on the rough asphalt, the voice in his head screaming out, and Mr. Jefferson just stands there, watching Dean and snickering._  
  
 ** _GONE._**  
  
 _Dean's head explodes and he blacks out._  
  
  
"Cas!" Dean screams as he wakes up, kicking the blanket off his bare legs, sweat trickling down his spine. He gasps, his lungs failing him, and white-knuckles the sheets. "Cas! Where are you?!"  
  
Panic floods Dean's heart and he widens his eyes as he realizes the chair next to Cas' bed is empty. Almost choking on the sudden tears that run down his cheeks, his eyes burning, he clambers out of the bed and clings tightly to the backrest of the chair.   
  
Somewhere nearby has to be Cas. He fucking has to.  
  
"Cas!" Dean croaks, knees trembling, and he staggers out of the door. Everything appears twice in front of him, there's two doors and two doorknobs and two carpets. Everything has multiplied.  
  
The fever makes Dean's motions extremely slow and it's just a matter of seconds, really, until he's on the floor, legs collapsed underneath him. "Tell me you're not gone!" Dean yells.  
  
The effort of getting up and walking these few steps becomes noticable way too soon for Dean's liking.   
  
Then Cas shouts something and he's loud and angry and then it's warm again. Dean is in his arms and everything is good. Through the hot veil of his fever, Dean can see Castiel's eyes. Narrowed and blue and so wonderful, he just wants to cherish them.  
  
"Cas, don't leave me," Dean breathes against Cas' cheek as he half carries, half drags the younger man back to bed and tucks him in, brushing the sweat-damp hair back.  
  
"It's okay, Dean, I'm not leaving," Castiel whispers and wipes Dean's forehead with the cool cloth he got from the kitchen. With slow, gentle swipes, he moves the wash cloth down Dean's body, over his chest and stops at his waistline. "Mmhm, feels nice," Dean murmurs, his eyes already getting heavy again.  
  
Sleep reaches out for him, but the second before it lulls him, he forces his eyes open once more, his heart bumping heavily in his chest.  
  
"Cas, he said you were gone. I didn't kiss Lisa, I swear. I would never..."  
  
He's shut up with a light peck on the lips, the cloth moving to his neck again. "It was just a bad dream, Dean, sleep now, you're still too hot."  
  
Dean doesn't know if he actually says "I know" or just thinks it.  
  
  
 _They're in Dean's room, Castiel sitting behind Dean on Dean's bed, arms and legs wrapped around the younger man and head resting on his shoulder. Dean turns his head to kiss Cas. It's summer and the windows are open wide, the curtains totally still and there's not even the slightest hint of a breeze.  
  
_ _He hears Castiel mumbling against his shoulder, but Dean is too busy thinking about why they're in his room. It's not like they've done this before. Just sitting in Dean's room and - well, cuddling._  
  
 _Dean turns to Cas, cupping his face with his hands. "Cas, promise me you don't leave me. Ever." And Castiel nods. For a second he's relieved, happy even._  
  
 _That's when the windows burst, the door slams and Castiel is gone again. In his place sits Lisa, eyes closed and a mean grin on her face. "Dean," she mumbles, but it's not her voice coming out, it's Castiel's. "No, no, this is not you, Cas." Dean jumps up, taking a few steps backwards, but at some point he bumps into something. Someone. Mr. Jefferson grins down at him, Castiel's ugly ass trenchcoat in his hands._  
  
 _"Don't touch that!"_  
  
 _Jefferson tears the coat into thin strips and with every piece of fabric falling to the floor, the screams of Lisa with Castiel's voice become louder and louder._  
  
 _Dean's scared as he turns around and he doesn't know what he'd expected, but this is definitely worse._  
  
 _Castiel is sitting on the bed again, hands trying to cover the many wounds he's bleeding from. "Stop!" Dean gasps and wants to run over to Cas, wants to get bandages to make the bleeding stop, but he can't move. "He's been in an inappropriate, sexual relationship with one of his students," Mr. Jefferson thunders and keeps tearing the coat into strips._  
  
 _Another strip lands on the floor, another strip of skin disappears from Cas' face._  
  
 _"Stop!" Dean cries out._  
  
  
  
"Stop!" Dean cries out and hits Cas directly into the face. He's shaking and crying and his fingers are mysterically linked with Cas'. "It's okay, Dean, I'm here, I've got you," Castiel mumbles into his hair, kissing his head again and again while Dean does his best to stop sobbing.  
  
"I'm sorry, Cas," Dean whispers, his voice reduced because speaking isn't doing any good to his abused vocal chords. Soothing hands run through his hair and he really hopes that the touch is actually feeling less cold and more normal than an hour or so before, but what does he know after all?  
  
"Dean, you should eat something, do you think you can do that?"  
  
He nods weakly.   
  
While Dean had been sleeping, Castiel must have been busy in the kitchen, cooking, because there’s a bowl of something on the nightstand. “I made you a soup,” Castiel says quietly and Dean believes there’s an amused undertone to his voice. “I told you I could make it another time, remember?”  
  
A smile makes Dean’s dry, chapped lips split and he grunts, pressing his hand against his mouth. As he pulls it back, there are faint blood stains.  
  
Cas hands him the bowl of soup and Dean gags. Under other conditions it probably would have smelled delicious and Dean would have been more than happy to have it offered, but right now, with the fever still raging inside him, its scent is simply disgusting. And if Dean makes a sick face, Castiel doesn’t notice.  
  
Or maybe he does, but dips the spoon into the soup anyway.  
  
Refusing to open his mouth as the spoon nudges the edge of his bottom lip, Dean makes an unhappy noise through closed lips.  
  
“Dean, it’s important for you to eat.”  
  
Just because he’s as much hungry and feeling weak as he’s nauseated by the food, Dean opens his mouth with a sigh. Big mistake.  
  
The soup burns its way down his throat and just this time Dean is grateful for having a gag reflex since it keeps him from swallowing too much of the vegetable soup. Castiel seems oddly satisfied when Dean keeps the first spoonful down and doesn’t puke it back up immediately.  
  
“How was that, Dean?” he asks, stroking Dean’s cheek with his thumb.  
  
“Awful.”  
  
Frowning, Castiel lifts another spoonful of soup up to Dean’s lips. “I’m sorry, but you really should at least eat ten more spoons of this.” Dean shakes his head and lays back down, but the pillow is hot and it makes him angry.  
  
Slim fingers reach down to turn the pillow over and the cool side of it feels like heaven. Castiel doesn’t let him sleep, though, he keeps poking Dean until he opens his eyes again. “Come on, Dean, ten spoons.”  
  
As Dean still refuses to let Castiel feed him, he makes an annoying noise that sounds suspiciously like a plane or at least a car. “Dean, don’t make me do it.” Another one of those noises. Eventually, Dean gives in and lets Castiel feed him another spoonful, that he swallows, but just barely.  
  
He’s more than surprised as a kiss lands on his lips only a second after swallowing. “Good, Dean. Nine more.”  
  
They go on like this. Castiel feeds Dean soup and Dean gets a kiss in return every time he empties his mouth. Because there’s kisses as reward Dean insists on finishing the whole bowl and he also demands less soup on each spoonful.  
  
Chuckling, Castiel puts the empty bowl aside and licks across his lips. “I, for one, didn’t think the soup was that bad.” But Dean isn’t really listening anymore, the food has warmed him up from the inside and made his limbs heavy and his brain tells him to just close his eyes.  
  
The mattress dips and creaks quietly as Castiel climbs into bed with Dean, shifting until he’s laying behind him, an arm draped over Dean’s bare side. Being the small spoon feels better than Dean would ever admit and he’s asleep in no time.  
  
With Castiel behind him the nightmares can’t reach him. Once or twice Dean thinks he can feel Castiel stroke his side soothingly, but he can’t get himself to open his eyes.  
  
Waking up after – he has no idea how long he’d slept – a while is horrible.  
  
The first thing Dean does is throw up.  
  
It seems like the entire content of his stomach is now all over the perfectly cleaned floor and carpet and even on Castiel’s bed. If Dean wasn't busy being convulsed and vomiting, he’d feel sorry.  
  
Strong arms are around him, steadying him and stroking his hair out of his face. When Dean is done being sick on Cas’ stuff, he turns around, wiping the back of his hand across his lips.  
  
He feels awful and guilty. “Sorry, Cas.”  
  
Only minutes later, Castiel had to promise him that he wasn’t angry and that he’d still be here when Dean would wake up, Dean is asleep again.  
  
The fever is back with new intensity and even angrier than it had been before. Dean moves fitfully in his sleep and lets out little gasps every now and then. During the whole time, Castiel only leaves the room to get a towel to wipe off Dean’s puke and to carry the smelly carpet out of the bedroom.  
  
  
Dean is seriously ill.  
  
His fever doesn’t die down until 3 days later, in which Castiel takes care of him, feeding him (that’s connected with rewarding kisses), wiping his sweat-coated, hot skin down and calming him whenever Dean wakes up screaming from another nightmare.  
  
“What were you dreaming about?” Castiel asks after Dean had been unable to calm down for several minutes.  
  
 _About you dying. Again. About you leaving. About me disappointing you. About us being happy.  
  
_ “Dunno,” he presses out instead. Of course Castiel doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t say anything. John hasn’t called throughout these three days, didn’t even leave a message asking where Dean was and if he was okay. It’s not like Dean had expected him to.  
  
There are a few missed calls and texts from Sam as Dean swipes his thumb across the phone screen and he smiles.  
  
 **Dean, you okay?  
  
Hey, where are you?  
  
DEAN. CALL ME BACK.  
  
Dammit, Dean, why don’t you answer your phone?!  
  
Jerk.   
**  
Grinning, Dean replies, telling Sam that he’s okay, just ill and was staying with a friend until he’d feel better and would be able to walk without dying because he could fall down the stairs.  
  
 **You’re with Cas, right?** comes the response almost immediately.  
  
The blush is on Dean’s cheeks before he can even think about hiding the message from Cas, who’s currently sitting behind Dean, just like in one of Dean’s many dreams, and wiping his back with the cool cloth.  
  
 **Don’t even deny it, I know you are.** Dean’s phone buzzes two more times after that.  
  
 **I gtg, but call me later.  
  
PS: Use protection.  
  
** Castiel can’t help but laugh, it fills the room and Dean groans in frustration and types a quick reply. **You nosey bitch, shut up, you shouldn’t even know that word. How old are you? 5. You’re 5 ok.  
  
** He does feel much better by now, but walking still is one hell of a lot to ask his body for, so Dean stays most of the fourth day in Cas’ bed, watching boring shows. The only silver lining on the literally grey sky (there had been another thunderstorm) is that Castiel stays in bed with him, though with a few inches of empty, cold mattress between them.  
  
Somewhere during the third season of Doctor Sexy M.D, Dean falls asleep and somehow manages to scoot over to Cas and crawl on top of him in his sleep. This time he’s dreaming, but it’s nice, not threatening anymore.  
  
Maybe that’s why he doesn’t wake up screaming, but humping Castiel’s leg and making small, happy noises. Dean isn’t sure if Cas’ cheeks are flushed because it’s really hot under the covers or because he’s awake and just doesn’t want Dean to know. Deeply embarrassed and cheeks colored crimson, Dean moves to his side of the bed and goes back to sleep for another few hours.  
  
There’s breakfast on the bedside table when Dean wakes up again. And since he doesn’t throw up from just a bit of food anymore, Dean’s stomach rumbles loudly as though it wanted to tell its owner that it demands to be fed _right now._ “Good morning, Dean,” Cas says softly from somewhere beside him and Dean’s insides twist harshly and he knows that he doesn’t have any excuse for staying another day.  
  
He would love to stay for another day, or two or twenty, but he can’t ask for that.  
  
Not like this, not now.  
  
“Cas,” Dean starts and sits up, taking a toast with cheese and tomatoes from the plate. “Hmm?” Castiel hums, one hand creeping up to the back of Dean’s neck. “Who turned you in?” he asks, bluntly, and within seconds the hand, warm on Dean’s skin, that went back to a normal temperature, is gone.  
  
“I don’t know, Dean.”  
  
Castiel moves and then the mattress creaks and he’s out of the bed. For a second Dean thinks he’s going to leave the room, going to leave him, but he doesn’t. He just walks around the bed to sit down on the chair next to Dean’s side of the bed.  
  
“I wanted to tell you about it earlier, I really did. The day you came to see me, in the cabin...” Castiel’s forehead creases and his voice shakes as he continues speaking, “I wanted to tell you that I would no longer be employed at your school.” He closes his eyes as if he was expecting Dean to punch him or something.  
  
“But _how?_ ” Dean insists, “We’ve been careful, right? As if anyone would have seen us!”  
  
“I don’t know, Dean. Perhaps someone saw us when we were in that cafe. Or maybe-“ Cas grumbles, but Dean interrupts his thoughts rudely.  
  
“That’s _bullshit,_ Cas! Students and teachers can sit in a cafe together without having fucked before!” Dean yells, suddenly extremely angry. “Again, I don’t know how that could happen. Maybe someone saw me taking you home and,” he holds his hand up as Dean opens his mouth to speak or shout something again, “saw us kissing.”  
  
Dean’s mouth falls slack. That could actually be, they didn’t make a big deal of hiding it, they just kissed right in front of Dean’s house and what if a classmate saw?  
  
 _What if Jamie saw?  
  
_ “No, that’s not possible.” Dean just _refuses_ to believe that. It simply couldn’t be. Nope. No. “But who would turn you in? That’s not fair.”  
  
Castiel laughs sadly. “It’s fair, Dean, it’s the law.”  
  
And as much as Dean wants to tell Cas that he’s wrong, that it’s not fair _at all_ , he can’t because, yes, Cas is right. Sleeping with your teacher is against the law.  
  
Dean gets up, the blanket covering him suddenly feels way too hot and he quickly stumbles over to the door, slumping down against the wall. He’s wearing a pair of Cas’ boxers and one of his sweaters and a part of Dean wants to keep them.  
  
“Why didn't you tell me the day I came to see you, then?” Dean asks, remembering Cas saying he’d wanted to tell him earlier. A sigh comes from Cas’ lips as he turns around to Dean. “Because you were more important, Dean.”  
  
 _Important._  
  
It warms Dean from the inside, even more than the soup, that turned out to be really good after the fever had diminished a little.  
  
“Mr. Crowley appointed me to his office, said we needed to talk. There were pictures, Dean, he didn’t show them to me since his informant still had them, but he’ll show them to me. Did someone talk to you yet?”  
  
“No, I-i mean, yes, I was told that you were fired, but not like that.”  
  
Castiel furrows his brows and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Dean, for causing you trouble.” Dean considers stretching up and kissing him, but he’s not sure if he’s allowed to. And Castiel seems to be so angry.  
  
“Cas,” Dean says, hesitantly reaching for the other man’s hand. He only relaxes when Castiel’s fingers are entwined with his own, fitting perfectly in the spaces between. “Dean, I think –“  
  
 _You should go? We should stop talking or having any kind of contact?  
  
_ “- we need to eat.”  
  
Gloom settles on every surface as both Dean and Castiel eat the toast without any appetite, something about Castiel being fired has changed their relationship. “Cas?” Dean asks after forcing down a small bite, but Castiel just shakes his head once more and tells Dean to finish breakfast.  
  
“How are you feeling?” Castiel asks after the last piece of toast is finished. “Okay, I suppose,” Dean shrugs and a second later he wished he’d told Cas that he was feeling horrible, that his head was killing him (which would have been a lie, but oh well) because then, maybe maybe, Cas would have suggested he could stay a little longer. “I should go home soon, Sammy is worried already,” Dean says.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
 _Or I could stay.  
  
_ Dean gets up and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m gonna get my clothes now.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
 _Or I could just get back into bed with you and forget about the bullshit outside your door.  
  
_ Dean gathers the pile of clothing, Cas had folded it neatly, from the end of the bed and pins it to his chest with one arm.  
  
“Would you like something to drink?” Castiel asks then, something flickering in his eyes, maybe it's hope. And maybe it's just the light coming from the lamp on the nightstand.  
  
“Okay,” Dean smiles and follows Cas down into the kitchen, grateful for every second he’s allowed to stay in his house. Even if they weren’t in his house, just anywhere would have sufficed. As long as he’d be with Cas.  
  
Cas pours either of them a glass of water. (“I’m not quite sure if coffee would be the best solution, Dean. I’m glad you can keep the toast down, let’s not risk it.”)  
  
The glass breaks as Castiel drops it to wrap his arms around Dean. It’s so unexpected that Dean can set his glass down on the counter just in time before Cas squeezes him so tightly, he can’t breathe.  
  
He doesn’t mind the loss of air supply because Castiel’s scent fills his lungs and isn’t that enough? Seriously.  
  
“Cas, what?” Dean gets out before Cas claims his lip with a kiss. It’s desperate and definitely not one of the best ones they’d shared, but it mirrors Dean’s thoughts perfectly.  
  
“Dean, you don’t have to see me now anymore.”  
  
The words cut like knives through the air, hit Dean forcefully and he actually sways slightly as he stumbles out of Cas’ arms, backwards, until he’s against the counter. “What?”  
  
“There’s no...need...to see me anymore. I’m no longer your teacher. Your grading is no longer my job.”  
  
 _Shit, why didn’t I think of that earlier?!  
  
_ “Yeah,” Dean chokes out. He wants to say that he doesn’t care if the kisses and the sex and everything is no longer a requirement for him to get a good grade. He wants to tell Cas that he still wants to see him. That he owes him a second date.  
  
 _And a third and a fourth.  
  
_ “Okay,” Castiel whispers as Dean doesn’t say anything, just stands there, wide-eyed and utterly confused. “Cas, listen-“  
  
“I understand, Dean. It was dumb enough from me to let you – to let myself – just...I understand.” Castiel sounds literally heartbroken as he backs away and marches out of the kitchen, head ducked as if someone had hit him hard.  
  
Dean follows him outside to where Cas is standing at the front door, that is already open. He tries once more. “Cas, I would like to...”  
  
But when Castiel looks at him, his eyes seem to be filled with unshed tears, his voice dies down. Since his vocal chords – _Great, thanks –_ are failing him, Dean wants to reach out to touch Cas, to _show_ him what he can’t say.  
  
Cas flinches away. “Please,” he says, eyes screwed shut, “just go.”  
  
 _I don’t want to, Cas._ Dean doesn’t say it. “Thanks for everything, Cas.”  
  
There’s a long pause before Castiel speaks again. “That’s why I was so selfish during the past days. I knew it was going to end like this and it was wrong of me to think I could kiss you whenever I wanted, but I thought – I _knew_ it was the last time I’d ever have the chance to. I’m sorry, Dean.”  
  
Dean, who’d already stepped outside, whips around. “Cas, wait, what did you say? Selfish? How were you selfish?”  
  
“It was selfish to think you could love me.”  
  
 _Oh god. Oh my FUCKING god._  
  
“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean starts and opens his mouth to tell him that this was just a huge misunderstanding and that his feelings were reciprocated.  
  
Castiel slams the door shut right in front of him, but Dean can still hear him say:  
  
“Me, too. Goodbye, Dean.”  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why but I can't let them be happy just yet, but I swear everything will be fine!  
> As always, comments are appreciated. Did you like it? Let me know c:


	12. Alexithymia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has gotten quite long, so I had to split it in two parts. I'm still working on the second, so I hope this is enough for this week.  
> Please don't be mad or anything.

Dean hesitates to open the door.

Everyone will be staring at him, he knows that for sure. He can't stand the looks the girls give him anymore, even Jamie has stopped talking to him.

The bell rings and Dean pushes the door open. All of a sudden the chattering and giggling dies down and it's completely silent in the room. It's so quiet, actually, you could hear a pin drop. "Mr. Winchester," his teacher greets him and he returns a brief nod. For some reason he can't look Mr. Jefferson, or anyone else, in the eyes.  
  
He suffers his way through the lesson, flinching every time he hears someone say his name or sees someone pointing at him and by the time the bell has finished ringing to end class, he's out of the room and pacing down the hallway, head ducked and shoulders drawn up. "Mr. Winchester," a deep voice behind him growls.  
  
Dean knows that voice, but he's only heard it once or twice and was hoping he'd never hear it again because - damn - this voice means trouble.  
  
"Mr. Crowley," he mumbles as he turns to face his principal, gaze lowered to his feet.  
  
"To my office, we need to talk."  
  
Chills run down Dean's spine as he follows the other man to the next floor, where his office is. To his surprise, though, his principal smiles at him when they sit across from each other at the huge, wooden desk. No one speaks, the only noise filling the room is the barely audible sizzling from the printer on the desk. After a brief staring-contest, which Dean loses miserably, Crowley opens his mouth to let his rumbling voice sound.  
  
"You probably can assume why I ordered you here today, Mr. Winchester."  
  
 _Okay, you can do this. No big deal. Come on, Dean.  
  
_ "I suppose I do," he answers sternly, his insides fastening with knots and the air suddenly is so thick, Dean thinks he might have to choke it down.   
  
Giving Dean a suspicious look, Mr. Crowley reaches down to withdraw an envelope from a locked drawer. "Somone, who wishes to remain icognito, delivered me these," he slowly pulls out a stack of photographs from the brown envelope and slides them over the table plate in Dean's direction.   
  
They are upside down, so Dean has to pick up the first one and turn it over to see what's displayed on the photo. His breath hitches in his throat and a surprised little gasp escapes him.  
  
In the picture are Castiel and him. Kissing. Castiel's one hand is resting on Dean's cheek, the other one, Dean remembers that, had been settled on his waist, but isn't visible in this picture since it's a close-up. Even though he should probably say something, Dean's mouth suddenly is dry.  
  
Not because he feels caught, but because of the way Castiel looks in this photo.  
  
The corners of his mouth are quirked upwards as though he's smiling into the kiss and his eyes are closed; not like screwed shut, they look like they'd just fluttered shut. It makes Dean's insides twitch and spin.  
  
He just feels a little embarrassed as he notices that his own cheeks are flushed and he looks like he's totally fucking  _melting_ into Cas' touch. Which he'd been, but admitting it is just a little too much to ask for considering his current situation.  
  
Dean picks up the next picture.  
  
It shows them sitting in the coffee shop, Cas grabbing his wrist and pinning the back of his hand to the table while pointing at the tiny scar on his wrist.   
  
He damn near snorts because that one isn't proof enough for being allowed to accuse him and Cas of  _anything.  
  
_ The next two photographs are close-up shots from the kiss again, but taken from different angles. By the time Dean looks at the last picture, he's pretty sure his cheeks are just as red as his lower lip, which he'd been chewing on.   
  
"I have a question for you, Dean," Mr. Crowley addresses him again.  
  
Dean looks up from the floor. "Yes, sir?"  
  
"Have you been forced into any of this? If so, you have to tell me. We can contact the police and-" his principal starts, but Dean interrupts him.   
  
"No!"  
  
His counterpart's eyebrows seem to disappear into his hairline and his brown eyes widen to the size of plates. "What?" he asks as if he couldn't believe what he'd just been told.  
  
"I said no. I wasn't forced into any of this." Dean puts the photographs back into the envelope before passing it over to Mr. Crowley. "I don't understand, then."  
  
Okay, he definitely can do this. All he needs is a little courage to actually say the words. Only three little words and he'd have the only explanation that wouldn't be a lie. But his tongue is suddenly heavy in his mouth.  
  
Probably that's why the first time he says them, they come out as a faint whisper. "Pardon?"  
  
Dean opens and closes his mouth several times and licks across his dry lips. "I love him," he haws, heat spreading across his cheeks. "You  _love_ him?" the other man repeats, face gone blank. "Yes. Yes, I do," Dean states, his voice finding its strength again and even though he's white-knuckling the armrests of his seat, he feels better than in quite a while.  
  
A frown appears on Mr. Crowley's forehead. "Are the feelings reciprocated?"  
  
Dean's heart sinks into his boots and the lump in his throat makes speaking very hard and painful. "I don't know... If that's everything..?" His principal nods and rises from the huge armchair he'd been sitting on. "I just hope you understand that firing Mr. Novak was necessary. He knows about the prohibition of being in a romantic relationship with a student and about the consequences if he still decides to date one."  
  
He nods and bluntly ignores the hand Mr. Crowley offers him to shake, just rushes out of the office.  
  
On his way to the restrooms Dean collides with someone smaller than him and both go down, swearing under their breaths. As he opens his eyes, he finds himself staring at Lisa. "Dean, uh, hey," she mumbles, blushing deep red, and bites her lip.  
  
"Sorry," Dean says and quickly scrambles to his feet.   
  
 _Out of all the people it had to be her, really?!  
  
_ "I heard about what happened to Mr. Novak," Lisa mentions and looks up at Dean, brushing her brown hair out of her face, threading her small fingers through it in an attempt to untangle it. "Oh." He's so not keen on having this conversation, especially when there's footsteps coming down the corridor.   
  
"Good to see you," he mutters and wants to get away, wants to hide in the boys' restrooms and stop thinking about what Cas might be doing right now, as Lisa grabs his arm.  
  
"I did it for us."  
  
Dean freezes in place and turns around slowly, letting the words sink in. They don't make sense to him. Is there something he's missing?  
  
"You were forced into this, Dean, I know. And if I hadn't done anything, you'd still be. I knew that once he's gone, you and me could be together again. Isn't that what you wanted, too, Dean?" she purrs and steps into Dean's personal space, fingers finding their way into his shirt.   
  
Something snaps and Dean steps back, shaking his head. "No. Are you kidding me? You handed him over to Crowley, do you have any idea how fucked up that is?"  
  
"But you're not  _gay,_ Dean!" Lisa yells. Suddenly she stretches up, grabbing a fistful of Dean's short hair, and tugs his head down to her. A jolt of pain runs from his scalp down his spine and then her lips crash against his own with force.   
  
"You are  _not_ gay, Dean Winchester," she insists as she steps back, her features an image of complete satisfaction.   
  
"Maybe I am, though," Dean hisses and wipes his hand across his lips, trying to get Lisa's taste off him. "You love me, don't deny it," Lisa grins, crossing her arms over her chest.  
  
"Lisa, stop it."  
  
"Look at you, not even denying it," she smirks.  
  
"I don't fucking love you!"  
  
Lisa shifts from one foot to the other, lazily grinning up at Dean. "Oh really, then who do you love?"  
  
He clenches his hands into tight fists and takes a few steady breaths before daring to answer her. Dean wants the words to sound confident. "I am in love with....CAS?!"  
  
Peering over Lisa's narrow shoulders, he spots a familiar brown trenchcoat only a few feet away from where Lisa and him are standing. Within seconds he's pushed Lisa aside and finds himself walking up to Cas. He wants to wrap his arms around Castiel, bury his face in his neck and just feel him again.   
  
Cas, however, doesn't seem to be okay with it. He stands stiffly in front of Dean, a cardboard box filled with papers and folders in his hands. "Cas," Dean whispers.  
  
"Hello, Dean."  
  
"Cas, what you just saw-..."  
  
"No, I understand, Dean. You don't owe me any explanation." The smile he gives Dean is as fake as Nicki Minaj's ass. He nods, gives another smile and leaves. Cas just leaves.  
  
Lisa's bell-like laughter echoes in the hallway and Dean's ears are still ringing from it as he finally manages to escape into the restrooms.  
  
The only good thing happening that day is that Jamie approaches Dean after school and pulls him into a hug without a word.   
  
"I'm sorry I've been such a douche, man. I should have talked to you," Jamie mumbles and pushes his baseball cap back on his head. "It's fine, I could've told you earlier," Dean smiles, just happy that at least his best friend is talking to him again.  
  
"Or at all," Jamie corrects and Dean elbows him. "Shut it, Jamie."  
  
"So, what you gonna do now?"  
  
Dean frowns and tilts his head in confusion. "What? I'm gonna go home, probably listen to music and then take a shower?"  
  
"Dude," Jamie sighs in exasperation, "about  _him?_ As much as it's new that you apparently like guys, too, I wanna see you - well - happy, man. God, that was cheesy."  
  
Now, that was unexpected. Dean rubs at the back of his neck and sadly shrugs. "Nothing, I suppose."  _Even though I fucking miss him.  
  
_ "You're such a fucking coward."  
  
"I know," Dean sighs and kicks the ground, his bottom lip worried between his teeth. "Okay, you know what? How about you call him?"  
  
That doesn't sound too bad. And even if Cas doesn't want any kind of relationship, he could at least ask how he was doing. Yeah, that sounded like a plan.  
  
"Maybe," Dean dodges.  _Maybe._  
  
  
********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
Castiel stands on his toetips to reach the book.  
  
It’s not exactly that he’s short or anything, the shelves at the local library just are quite huge and pretty much everyone has troubles reaching the top shelf.  
  
With a sad sigh, he drops the book in the basket dangling from his arm. No matter how hard he tries, and he’s trying very hard, he can’t forget what happened as he went to clear his office.  
  
Everything had been fine, but then he’d seen Dean and this girl – What was her name again? – kissing.  
  
Jealousy makes him feel nauseous and he randomly throws a few more books into his basket before heading to the counter with an old lady sitting behind it to get them scanned.  
  
Castiel is about halfway there, when he hears two familiar voices.  
  
“Dude, what you gonna do on your birthday?”  
  
“Oh shut it, Jamie, I’m gonna stay home.”  
  
Jamie makes a small, unhappy noise and his voice departs a little, he’s probably wandering down the aisle. “Come on, at least come get drunk with me. Maybe then you’ll grow a pair and finally call him.”  
  
 _Call who?  
  
_ Castiel steps into the aisle with books about biology and geography to understand the following words. While he takes out a random book, he tells himself that he’s not like _eavesdropping_ , that he’s just interested in nature.  
  
“I’m not gonna call Cas drunk, no way,” Dean’s voice sounds.  
  
His heart skips a beat. Two. And as it bumps again, it’s so fast that he feels like he had to hyperventilate. _Call me?  
  
_ “You could just tell him what you told me. You can tell him,” Jamie’s voice changes audibly, like he was mocking his friend, “Hey, Cas, I’m soo in- Ouch, dammit, Dean, what the hell?”  
  
“Christ, will you stop?”  
  
Before Cas realizes what’s happening, someone walks around the huge shelf he’d been hiding behind and bumps into him. His throat is dry in an instant and since he doesn’t know what else to do, he awkwardly waves the book at Dean.  
  
“Hello, uh, Dean.”  
  
“The male body, Cas?” Dean frowns and points at the book in his hand. Blinking, Cas peers down at its cover and blushes. “Well, uh.” He shrugs small and puts the book back into the shelf.  
  
“Dean, you gonna call Cas or not?” Jamie shouts and Dean flinches.  
  
“One more word and I’ll kick your sorry ass so hard, you’ll be shitting nails for a week,” Dean growls and there’s a surprised laughter as response before Jamie announces that he’ll go and grab coffee for both him and Dean since libraries are just not ‘his thing’.  
  
As Dean turns his head to face him once more, his freckled cheeks are colored in a light shade of red and his hands twitching nervously. For a second Cas considers asking Dean why he wanted to call him, but then he remembers what happened earlier that day and stares down at his feet.  
  
“Cas, I didn’t kiss her back.”  
  
Something tugs on his insides, like a knife was twisting behind his ribs and digging into his flesh. “Oh,” is all he manages to choke out. “Mr. Crowley talked to me,” Dean mumbles then, obviously trying to switch the topic. That gets Cas’ attention and he looks back at his former student.  
  
“What did he say?”  
  
“Not much, really. He showed me pictures of us kissing and sitting in the cafe and asked whether I was forced into this and,” he hesitates, “I said no.” Biting his lip, Dean shuffles his feet and takes a deep breath. “Then he said he wouldn’t understand and I - well, actually, I told him that – You know, Cas?”  
  
Cas doesn’t know, so he shakes his head. All he wants to hear are three little words, nothing more. They don’t come. They never do.  
  
“I didn’t know your birthday is on...” He leaves the sentence for Dean to finish. “...Friday.”  
  
The younger man scratches the back of his head and coughs awkwardly. “You just heard him, Jamie I mean, didn’t you?”  
  
Instantly, Cas can feel his heart going crazy in its cage. “Yes.”  
  
“Sorry about that. I just wanted,” he gulps thickly, “to ask how you’re doing.” _Oh I’m doing great. Fun-fucking-tastic, really._ “Okay, I suppose,” Castiel answers, fingers clenching around nothing but air.  
  
Dean looks like he’s about to turn away from him, his green eyes nervously running over his face. If he lets Dean leave this time, he won’t get another chance, Cas know that for sure, and another thing he knows for certain is that he can’t let that happen. Under no conditions.  
  
“Let me take you out.”  
  
The words are out before he can’t think them over. Dean’s mouth is formed in a soft o-shape and he stares at him blankly for a while, features completely and utterly puzzled. “You’re not joking,” he states then, sounding nearly surprised.  
  
“No, Dean, I’m not.”  
  
“Could – Would you repeat that?” Dean asks as if he just couldn’t believe it. “Let me take you out on your birthday.”  
  
“As a date?” Cas can hear the hesitation in Dean’s voice. “I would like that, but it’s okay if we’re just-“  
  
“No! I mean, yes. No, I mean, I would like that,” Dean stammers. A huge weight, heavy like the fucking Himalayas, is taken off his shoulders and Cas can barely hold himself back from making a happy noise; he still has to keep his attitude. “Would seven be convenient for you, then?”  
  
Dean shakes his head, nods, shakes his head _again_ and then shrugs helplessly. “Yes.”  
  
“I will make sure to pick you up at seven, then. I’m glad you give me the chance to fix things.” Before he can say anything more stupid, Cas whips around and gets out of the library, the basket with the books he’d wanted to read so bad forgotten in the aisle with Dean.  
  
  
********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
It's four in the afternoon as Cas finally wakes up on Friday.  
  
He'd worked hard the day before, typed out an application for a university with a main focus on Art and brought his best suit to a dry cleaner's. That's the least he can do, look good for Dean. It's no big surprise therefore that he finds himself now wandering cluelessly through his house and trying to kill some time.  
  
About half an hour later he's on his way to pick up the suit and as he gets back, Cas decides to take a shower.  
  
The shower spray cools him at least a little, the water trickling down his spine is almost as good as the fluttering of his stomach. Castiel runs his hands through his wet hair, spreading shampoo over it, and sighs consently. But as he gets out of the shower only a few minutes later, he feels dirty again. All he wants this evening to be is perfect.  
  
So he steps back into the shower and scrubs every inch of skin he can possibly reach. Red skin and itching eyes are the result, but as he takes a look in the huge bathroom mirror after the steam had condensed, Cas can't help the tiny smile making its way on his face.  
  
His dark, usually messy hair, even right after showering, is in place and looks actually quite  _fluffy.  
  
_ Immediately, he finds himself wondering whether Dean would run his fingers through it and notice a difference. Or whether he'd run his hands through it at any point this evening in the first place. Small ripples of worry rush through him and the thought of drowning them in alcohol comes to Castiel's mind.  
  
 _No, no, definitely, no.  
  
_ To distract himself, Cas goes to check on the present he'd prepared for Dean.  
  
Just in a towel wrapped around his waist, Castiel walks into his bedroom and over to the white desk, where he'd put the flat, thin present. It had taken him  _days_ to accomplish it and in the end he'd been so proud he'd almost kept it to himself and taped it to his bedroom-door. Hopefully it would show Dean what he can't express through words.  
  
He runs a hand over the brown packaging paper fixed with a thick string. It might not look that nice, but Cas wanted it to make it safely to their date and not accidentally crunch up while driving. Because that would totally  _destroy_ it.  
  
Cas pulls the sliding doors of his wardrobe open and rifles through his underwear drawer until he finds the boxer briefs Dean borrowed once. Dean would surely remember them, so he slips them on- just in case.  
  
The suit, neatly folded on his chair, looks eminently clean today and the lining of the jacket feels almost silky on Cas' skin.  
  
Once he's dressed, Cas carefully gathers the damageable present in his arms, holding it like a small child.  
  
Everything that could possibly be prepared is done and Cas still feels an uneasy kind of titillation at the back of his neck that makes him shudder. "It's gonna be okay," he mumbles on his way to his car, words falling like a mantra from his lips. Hell, he even used chapstick for this.  
  
 _Don't mess up.  
  
_ By the time he pulls into Oak Tree Lane, his palms have turned into puddles of sweat on the steering wheel and he's checked his hair approximately a few thousand times in the rear view mirror. The temperature is increasing gradually and it seems like the entire heat is coming from the present in the backseat, burning a hole in Cas' neck. He peers out of the window, checking if Dean already is waiting in front of his house or sitting on the curb like the last time Castiel had picked him up.  
  
But he's not.  
  
Cas glances down at his watch. A few minutes to seven, the display tells him and a relieved sigh slips out of his slightly parted lips. Just to make sure nothing has changed in the past two minutes, he squints at himself in th rear view mirror again. The hinge creaks as Cas adjusts its angle so he can get a better view of his face - more than just his har.   
  
He smiles.  
  
For once everything looks like it's supposed to, even though his lips are chapped again. Inwardly, Cas makes a note on bringing chapstick from now on.  
  
Something knocks on his window and he flinches, startled. When he throws a quick side glance at the window, though, and sees it's Dean who knocked, he feels embarrassed, caught somehow. It's like Dean knows what he'd been doing according to the amused grin on the younger man's face.  
  
Remembering his good manner, Cas gestures Dean to step back and clumsily clambers out of the car - that's not the way it should have gone down.   
  
"Happy Birthday, Dean," he smiles.  
  
"Thanks, Cas."  
  
Cas' counterpart runs a hand through his short hair and he can't help studying him closely. There's something different about him today.  
  
It takes Castiel a couple of seconds to figure out what exactly it is that's different to him.  
  
Dean is wearing his sweater.  _His_ sweater. The one he'd worn the day he'd left his place after being ill. He's. Wearing. His - Castiel's sweater. Now, that's something Cas hadn't been prepared for.  
  
He swallows dryly, opens his mouth and makes a surprised noise. Green, sad eyes look at him and Cas has to turn away because the fire burning inside him just turned into a huge fucking inferno.   
  
"I suppose we should go," he eventually manages to say.  
  
Without another word, Dean gets into the passenger seat and buckles his seat belt before staring down into the footwell area. The ride to the restaurant Cas had picked in advance is awkward. Cas gives a few tries of talking to Dean, but neither of them can seem to find a topic the other one is comfortable with talking about.   
  
"Woah," Dean gasps as Cas grinds the car to halt in front of a sublime-looking restaurant. "Cas, I-" But Cas silences him with a gentle squeeze of his hand on his arm. "You allowed me to take you out."  
  
"Yes, but, Cas..." Dean stares wide-eyed at the entrance and then down on himself while stepping out of the car.  
  
Castiel smiles and resists the urge of wrapping an arm around Dean's waist, pulling him close and walking right next to him. The least he can do for now is make sure he doesn't feel uncomfortable. "Don't worry about anthing, I've got this. Besides, you're looking very handsome," he assures him and it actually seems to work.   
  
He gets a shy smile before Dean lowers his gaze to the ground again.  
  
Of course the whole situation is more than stupid. Going out after a fight, a huge misunderstanding and all the bullshit that had been going on between them during the past weeks, is probably not the best solution, yet here they are, trying to make it work.  
  
Cas leads Dean, who's very busing beaming at the huge chandelabra hanging from a dome-like ceiling, inside and over to a table, seperated from the others with a classy baffle. "Happy Birthday," Cas grins as Dean takes a seat and stares at him in awe. "Thank you, Cas, again."  
  
The words come out hushed and Cas thinks it's just very endearing.  
  
Neither Cas nor Dean speaks before a waiter, dressed in an obviously expensive designer-suit and with properly parted, light-brown hair, brings them the menu. Cas thanks him and turns to Dean, who'd gone pale meanwhile. "Cas, I don't think I belong here, really."  
  
Dean gulps and lets his eyes nervously scan the room.  
  
Out of reflex, Castiel reaches out and covers Dean's hand with his own. He only notices it as Dean's eyes widen and his hand gives a slight twitch under his, but he doesn't pull it away. Countenanced by this, he slowly starts stroking the back of his hand with his thumb and feels the shiver that runs through Dean all the way down to his stomach.  
  
"Cas about what I said in the library-" Dean blurts out.  
  
As much as he'd love to talk about that, Cas shakes his head to quiet Dean, for now at least.  
  
"The waiter will be back any second, I think we should talk in privacy," he explains as a disappointed expression creeps across Dean's face, which immediately changes into a relaxed one.   
  
As the waiter returns, Cas places his order and the other man, his nameplate reads  _Greg,_ gives him a knowing smile, like he'd confirm Cas' choice. It's not the first time for Cas to be here, so he acts a lot more natural than Dean, who kind of hides behind the menu and throws helpless, pleading looks at him. "Help," he mouths as the waiter turns towards him and flashes an exaggerated smile.  
  
"I'll uh have the same," Dean decides and blushes furiously as a laugh escapes Cas. He'd be sorry if it wasn't for the way Dean looks at him; somewhat aggravated, but the affection is even visible to Castiel.  
  
Apparently to Greg as well because he leans a little closer to them and winks. "You make a very cute couple."  
  
All of a sudden it's deadly silent.  
  
"Oh, w-we're not, I mean," Cas starts, while Dean mumbles, "It's not like that." Greg tilts his head, raises his eyebrows and  _laughs._  "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you didn't tell each other about your feelings, yet."  
  
He just can't believe his ears. "We're not..."  
  
"Dont' worry, I've been in the closet for quite a while myself," Greg smiles and turns to deliver the orders.  
  
The silence remains until Cas finds the courage to lick his lips and speak up.   
  
"Dean, what I meant to say, back at my place, when you were sick, was that- When I said that it was dumb of me to think you could love me... It's hard to explain. I think it started the day I first saw you. I remember you wore a Metallica shirt that day, I remember because it annoyed me just as much as the way you came into my classroom. But I couldn't help - couldn't help noticing that-"  
  
Cas bites his lip.  _Is this really the right moment? God, whatever.  
  
_ "I said it before and I'll say it again. I'll say it as many times as it takes you to believe me, because you- You're beautiful."  
  
The words are out and he honestly wishes he could take them back because Dean stares at him in blank horror.   
  
"I'm sorry." Cas knows when he's lost and now is one of those times.  
  
One hand fisting the fabric of his pants, he stares down at his lap, not able to face Dean, not anymore, not knowing that he'd misread his expressions, the small smiles, basically everything.  
  
Anger makes his insides clench and he outright hates himself for bringing the topic up that early. He should have waited and at least let Dean have a nice dinner. Dean probably would leave any second, and Cas wouldn't even blame him. The only one he's blaming right now is himself for being impatient and selfish and a complete-  
  
Dean says his name.  
  
Quietly.  
  
And as Castiel lifts his head, Dean whispers, "Please, Cas, go on." And who is he to say no to this man?  
  
"I knew it was wrong. Not wrong, but not allowed. I couldn't help it, I needed,  _wanted_ and I just really...I didn't know what else to do." Castiel mentally curses himself for not having the words for what he wants to say, for what he wanted to say for ages.  
  
"There's a term for this, you know?" he says instead.  
  
"For what?"  
  
"This."  
  
"Restaurant?"  
  
"No, I meant...It's called Alexithymia," Cas mumbles, grateful for the poetry club he'd been in in college.   
  
"What?"  
  
"The difficulty of expressing your feelings through words."  
  
The following question takes Cas aback. "Then, what are your feelings, Cas?"  
  
Hope shimmers in Dean's eyes and Cas just cannot, literally  _cannot,_ disappoint him. "I'll show you later." He only realizes how suggestive that sounds when Dean bites his lip and shifts in his seat like he was trying to - Oh. Okay. Oh.  
  
Dean closes his eyes and his lips start moving as if he was counting from one to ten in his head. While he's busy counting or whatever, Cas actually contemplates leaving the restaurant and getting the present out of the car to just  _show_ Dean. Apparently the countdown has ended and now Dean fiddles with the sleeve of Cas' sweater, that's a little tight around his shoulders.  
  
"I never returned this to you," he mutters.  
  
He hums in response and is close to reaching out and smoothe out a wrinkle in the soft fabric as Greg is back with two huge plates, heaped with pasta and gravy and steak. "Enjoy your meal, sir," he says as he places the plates in front of Cas and Dean with a sly smirk that a waiter shouldn't be allowed to have.  
  
"A-actually," he can hear Dean say before he leans in towards him, hot breath suddenly brushing his ear conch. "Could we take this home?" Dean should pull away, but he doesn't. His mouth touches the nape of Cas' neck and he damn near has to shove his former student away.  
  
"Of course," he croaks, voice catching in his throat.  
  
He doesn't miss the complacent look on Greg's face as he goes to pack the food into take-away bags.  
  
"Dean, why?"  
  
"We need to figure things out and if we're both suffering from Alex-thingy, talking in a public place, even somewhere as quiet as here, is probably not really for the best."  
  
They leave as soon as Greg returns with two plastic bags and a wide grin on his lips. Cas pays up, which gets him a noise of complaint from Dean, but then he already is busy pulling Dean out of the stupidly classy restaurant and into his car.  
  
The plastic rustles as both bags land in the backseat and Cas is holding an armful of Dean.   
  
"I'm not drunk enough to have this conversation," Dean whispers against Cas' shoulders and makes him shiver. "Me neither," Cas confesses, chuckling.  
  
"Come home with me, Cas."  
  
"Dean-"  
  
"We can talk there."  
  
"Just talking?"  
  
"Yes, yes, talking," Dean mumbles, but his eyes tell him different.  
  
"Talking," Cas repeats and starts the engine while Dean brings some distance between them and slides into the co-driver's seat. "Hey, Cas?"  
  
"Yes, Dean?" he says absently.  
  
"I'm sorry for what I said last time, I didn't know what I was thinking. I just fucking - Shit, Cas, I need you."  
  
Those three words might not be exactly the same words everyone uses, but both Dean and Cas know that they have the exact same meaning. Probably that's why Cas manages, before he does anything stupid like kiss Dean here and now, to murmur,  
  
"I know, Dean, I need you, too."   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idrk, I feel like I messed something up this chapter? Did I? If you liked it...please let me know c:


	13. Pillow Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo, I have a beta now c: I wanted to thank Graciele for scanning this chapter for mistakes and correcting my clumsiness.
> 
> *
> 
> Here is the second half of the chapter! (It's a little short, I know, the next one will be longer)

Need is just one of many emotions making Dean's heart feel weird.  
  
Next to him, Cas had gone completely silent, hands clamped around the steering wheel and gaze fixed on the street in front of them. How easy it would be just to lean in those few inches and kiss him. It would be so easy, Dean doesn't really know how he's still resisting Cas' lips.  
  
"Dean, talking, right?" Castiel breathes and Dean can see his adam's apple bob.   
  
He shakes his head to get any inappropriate thought out of his mind. "Yeah, talking." The thoughts don't stay away, though, and soon all Dean wants to do is tell Cas to fucking  _drive_ _faster_ because he can't stand the tension between them, slowly filling the entire air in the car.   
  
But, hey, at least it seems like everything's going to be alright - if he manages to actually tell Cas about his feelings. Maybe Cas was right and he really had Alexi-whatever, but he  _would_ find a way to let Cas know. If not through words, he'd do it through actions. Pondering what Cas could possibly have meant when he'd said that he would 'show him later', Dean entwines his fingers in his lap.  
  
"Hey, Cas?" he asks for the second time in five minutes.  
  
Cas doesn't disappoint. "Yes, Dean?"  
  
"We there yet?"  
  
The least Dean was expecting Cas to do is start actually fucking snickering. "Dude," he complains and Castiel rubs his hand over his cheek. "I'm very sorry, Dean," he chuckles.  
  
"To answer your question: Not yet, but we will be soon." More than once Dean has contemplated reaching out and holding Cas' hand and every time he's forced his hand back. He doesn't really know why he did, it's not like Cas would reject him - probably - or suddenly change his mind about this, about  _them.  
  
_ Yes, they said they would just talk.  
  
No, Dean doesn't think that's actually gonna happen. Not with Cas and him in a room together.  
  
Dean shoots up as soon as Cas beside him puts on the handbrake and parks the car across from his house. He's out of the tension-filled vehicle in only a matter of seconds. While Cas is busy in the backseat, searching for the discarded take-away plastic bags, Dean rocks on his heels and buries his face in the fabric of Cas' sweater to calm himself for what he's about to do.  
  
He'd seen Cas' expression as his former teacher had raked his eyes over him and he'd also noticed the exact moment Castiel had realized that this was  _his_ sweater.  
  
Dean smiles into the fabric.  
  
Wearing Cas' sweater obviously had been a good idea. And apart from the helpful things the piece of clothing does, mainly it just feels really good to wear Cas' things. Even if it's just his boxers, which he regrettably had to return to their owner.   
  
Cas is still bent over, one knee on the driver's seat, and leans down to pick the bags up. But why on earth does it take him so long?  
  
"You need help over there?" Dean offers.  
  
A quick "No, no, don't come here!" is not exactly what he'd expected, but he doesn't complain, at least he gets a perfect view of Cas' back like this. Dark fabric stretches over perfectly sculptured shoulder muscles and Dean tries - oh god, how is he  _trying -_ not to think of the way they feel under his hands.   
  
After half an eternity as it seems, Cas decides he's taken long enough and withdraws himself from the car, standing up straight. Dean squints suspiciously down at the other man's hands.  
  
Where only two plastic bags should be, is a thin, flat thing wrapped up in weird brown paper.   
  
Cas takes a step closer, intruding Dean's personal space, and the fingers touching his cheek only a second later are so gentle, they might as well have been a brush of air. "Cas," he forces out, voice suddenly barely wanting to come out.  
  
"Dean." His name falls off Cas' lips so easily and he can't help but fall in love a little more.  
  
"We shouldn't talk here. Do you maybe, like, you know," Dean trails off, licking his lips. He never invited someone to his room, not voluntarily at least. Sure, Jamie's been in there like a billion times, but Jamie is different. Dean and Jamie had known each other for a long time and Dean has never been interested in him the way he is in Castiel.   
  
And even if Cas had been in his room before, that doesn't make him any less nervous.  
  
The time Castiel had visited him, he'd had a fever and Cas had to carry him upstairs and bring him to bed. Well, he didn't actually  _have_ to, but he did.  
  
"Do you wanna come inside?" he asks therefore, hesitantly. And after a split second Dean adds, "The house, I mean."  
  
The corners of Cas' mouth turn upwards. "I would like that, yes." Secretly, Dean curses Castiel for having eyes that blue, making his knees weak.  
  
During the brief walk from the car to Dean's front door, he finds himself glaring at the wrapped up  _item_ in Cas' hand again, but he doesn't ask about it. If Cas had wanted him to know what it is, yet, he would have told him. Or shown him. At least done something.  
  
It's just when Dean pulls out his key that he notices his hands are shaking.  
  
Slowly, he unlocks the door and freezes the second the lock makes that tiny sound. He expects John to wait for him, for them, and be furious about him bringing someone, let alone another  _man,_ home.   
  
The kitchen is not illuminated and neither is the living room. John is nowhere to be found and Dean sighs in relief. As something brushes his hand, he flinches and wants to strike out and plant a punch on whatever it is, but only until he realizes that it's Cas' fingers, threaded with his own. Warmth creeps up his arm, down his chest and settles in his stomach and he doesn't even care anymore if John sees them.  
  
"This way," he can hear himself mumbling to not destroy the moment.  
  
Everything is dark and Dean is lucky this is  _his_ place and he knows where Sam's books are spread on the floor or where they have to be careful not to run into a wall.   
  
He gives a gentle tug on their linked hands and guides Cas towards the wooden stairs leading to the second floor and his room. On the way upstairs, Dean can feel his heart beating so loudly, he thinks he might wake Sam up.  
  
When Dean closes the door to his room behind Cas and locks it, he has to swallow before speaking. "So, here we are." He lets go of Cas' hand, reluctantly, and switches on the lights. Cas behaves just as awkward as Dean is feeling, chewing on his lip and shifting from one foot to the other.   
  
To avoid the awkwardness as well as possible, Dean gestures over at his bed and sits down first, so Cas won't have any inhibitions. "Dean," Cas starts the same second as Dean mumbles, "Cas."  
  
"You go first," Dean says quickly to buy himself some time.  
  
"A few days ago I got mail from Mr. Crowley," Castiel tells him, tentatively, as if he's considering whether now is a good time to bring it up, "and he sent me the same pictures he showed you." He stops, shaking his head, and Dean's breath hitches in his throat, heart standing still for a second.  
  
 _What if I misread everything?  
  
_ "And as you might have noticed, I'm not good with words, Dean, but I think I'm allowed to say I'm good with this."  
  
He hands Dean the flat thing, wrapped in packaging paper, and smiles almost shyly. "Happy Birthday, Dean, I hope this will make you understand."  
  
With trembling fingers Dean starts untying the string holding the wrapping paper in place, but his sweaty hands keep slipping from it. It takes several seconds and a little bit of coaxing from Cas' side for him to finally loosen the string. "Open it, Dean," Castiel encourages him, his voice shaking just slightly, but Dean has become almost fluent in Castiel, he know he's nervous and scared, anxious and maybe just a little bit hopeful.  
  
As the wrapping paper drops to the floor, Dean gasps and he can't breathe.  
  
Right there, on his knees it the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Tears well up in the corners of his eyes and he has to blink frantically to will them down. Instead of going away, though, the first one runs down his cheek and Dean can wipe it away just in time.  
  
It's a pencil drawing.  
  
Cas doesn't say anything while Dean just stares at pencil-him and pencil-Cas, kissing. It looks just like the close-up shot from the kiss Crowley had shown him. Wait, no, it looks _almost_ like the photograph.  
  
In the drawing, Castiel cups Dean's cheeks with both hands and the kiss looks more desperate, more meaningful. There's a dark grey tear running down Cas' cheek and where the blush on Dean's cheek had been in the photograph, is a thick layer of pencil lines, interfering with each other so there's a small area on his cheek that's darker than the rest.  
  
Every tiny detail, from the freckles around Dean's nose to the curve of Cas' jaw, is perfectly reflected.  
  
"Is - is this how you...? Did you draw...?" Dean stammers, not able to form a full sentence.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Dean doesn't say anything after that, he just keeps staring at Cas and him and the way Cas had expressed exactly what Dean had been thinking over the past month in a motionless drawing.   
  
His heart has turned into a burning sun, no, into a damn solar system behind his ribs and pounds forcefully in his chest, pumping fluid lava instead of blood through his veins with every beat.  
  
Castiel kisses him.  
  
The kiss tastes of longing and need, love and desperation, and is so fucking full of  _feelings,_ it makes Dean want to cry right again.  
  
"I know, Dean," Cas whispers against his lips, hands running up and down his sides, soothing him.   
  
With an effort that seems to consume his entire energy, Dean stands up and places the drawing on his desk, carefully, so it doesn't get even the tiniest flaw.  
  
"Cas, what I said in the library...I told Crowley, well, I said that," he takes a deep breath, inhaling as much air as his poor lungs manage to contain, "I like - love, well, you?" He says it hesitantly, almost questioning and he doesn't even know why.  
  
Dean feels like a total asshole.  
  
After all, Cas had revealed his feelings to him, completely and without dilution. "I told him that I love you," Dean repeats, sounding a little more confident.   
  
He repeats the words again and again until they easily fall from his lips and Cas had gone wide-eyed and his cheeks were reddened. "God, Dean," he breathes then, reaching out for the younger man and curling his fingers around Dean's wrists.  
  
Cas' touch starts a fire, beginning at Dean's fingertips and slowly making its way up to the tips of his ears and down to his toes.   
  
When Castiel pulls him towards him, on top of him until Dean is straddling his waist, he doesn't even  _think_ about resisting those beautiful hands, soft lips and gorgeous eyes. He just  _takes_ because now he actually can do all of this without feeling like he's risking Castiel's career or wondering whether Cas feels the same.   
  
"Dean," Cas murmurs against the nape of Dean's neck and slides his hands up his back, bunching his shirt in his fists. He tilts his head to the side, giving Cas better access to his neck and lets Castiel use that wonderful mouth of his on him until he can  _feel_ that there will be one hell of a hickey tomorrow.  
  
Not that he really cares.  
  
They kiss again, slow and gentle, and breathe each other in like oxygen. Dean tangles his fingers in Cas' hair and kisses him with all he's got. Tears make their way down his cheek and land on Castiel's shoulder.  
  
A lopsided grin spreads across Cas' face and he wipes the tear running down Dean's cheek away with his thumb.   
  
Dean presses himself closer to Cas, wanting to be as close as possible and starts kissing him again. He can't get himself to care that most of his kisses don't really land on Cas' mouth, but at least like this he can plaster the lower half of his face with small, gentle pecks. Warm hands find their way under his shirt and settle on his hips, thumbs rubbing circles into his hipbones.  
  
Pulling Cas down with him, Dean lowers himself to the mattress, but keeps his and Castiel's lips interlocked.   
  
He spreads his legs, wrapping them around Cas' waist as he crawls between Dean's legs and on top of him. The whole moment is so surreal that it takes Dean a second to realize that -  _Holy mother of pie -_ this is actually happening. Cas loves him and he loves Cas and Cas is here with him, in his room, on his fucking  _bed._  
  
Cas moves his lips to his neck, alternating between kissing and nibbling, and Dean completely forgets how to breathe. All he can think of is that Castiel - wonderful, beautiful, perfect Castiel -  loves him back.  
  
"Cas," Dean mutters against the fabric of Cas' jacket. "Yes, Dean?"  
  
"Get out of that fucking jacket."  
  
Laughter fills the room while Cas slips out of what looks like a thousand-dollar jacket and tosses it on the floor. As Dean trails his fingers up Castiel's chest to unbutton his shirt, he has to kiss him again. It's like he can't help it, his body just decides that it needs Cas' lips on his, his tongue in his mouth and his scent on the green sheets.  
  
"Wearing my sweater, what an absolutely irresistable thing, Dean," Cas hums as he pushes the sweater up, over Dean's head and throws it aside. Kisses are trailed down his chest and each and every one makes chills run down his spine and when Castiel wraps his lips over his nipple, which - quite frankly - is such a sinful thing to do, really, Dean can't hold back the small whimpering noise that escapes him.   
  
"Cas, my brother is - mmh," Dean makes as Cas places a hand over his mouth.  
  
Dean can feel the smirk Cas is wearing as he presses a kiss to his stomach. "We'll just have to be quiet then." With that, he shoves his thigh the tiny bit upwards that it takes for it to rub against Dean's crotch. He's more than happy that Cas' palm stifles the moan he involuntarily lets out.   
  
They undress each other slowly and Dean makes sure to pay attention to every part of Castiel, his collarbones, his shoulders and his throat. When he gets there, Cas' hands clench around the sheets beneath Dean's head and he gasps, eyes fluttering shut.   
  
"Oh, Dean."  
  
Dean grins and repeats his action, kissing Cas' throat, then grazing it with his teeth. A shudder runs through the man hovering above him and Dean can feel it all the way down to his still clothed erection. With a pathetic sound, even for him, Dean grinds up against Castiel's leg, greedily searching for friction, hands clutching at his shoulders.  
  
One hand on the back of Dean's neck, Castiel brings his mouth down to his once more. Cas' lips are damp and slightly swollen, but they feel more like home to Dean than his actual home has during the past month.   
  
Castiel's expensive suit and Dean's clothes are spread out across the bedroom floor and their underwear follows only minutes later.  
  
"Don't think I didn't recognize the boxers," Dean whispers as Cas is busy tracing the inside of Dean's thighs with his fingertips. Ever so innocently, Cas responds, "I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
By the time Cas finally takes pity on Dean and pays attention to his aching erection, Dean is a mess.  
  
It's pure serendipity that he remembers reaching over to his nightstand and fetching the bottle of lube he's kept in there for God knows how long - not that he'd ever gotten the chance to use it.  
  
The warmth pooling in Dean's groin is almost too much and he has to use all the will power he's left to shove Castiel off him. "N-not yet," he pants out and Cas understands.  
  
"Dean, you're so beautiful."  
  
Beautiful has never been the way Dean has thought about himself, but now, here, today with Castiel he believes it.  
  
In no time Castiel has slicked his fingers up and breaches Dean's hole with his index finger, distracting him with sucking bruises into his neck. He has to bite back the noises that want to be made so urgently, but when Cas, the sneaky bastard, crooks his fingers upwards and strokes a special spot inside Dean, he can't suppress them any longer.   
  
Breathless gasps and strangled moans tumble from his lips, followed by a rush of swearwords as Cas scissors him open with now two fingers.  
  
Dean is trembling and biting his lip as Castiel works a third finger in and his hips have decided that, yes, they like this, so he finds himself fucking back on those elegant fingers.  
  
When Cas eventually withdraws his fingers, spreads lube across his until now untouched erection and lines himself up, caressing Dean's mouth with his own, Dean already knows that he isn't going to last long. It's embarrassing how Castiel can make him lose his mind in a way no one has before, but on the other side it's just pretty fucking awesome.  
  
He listens to Cas mumbling hushed words of affection into his skin while he pushes in until he bottoms out.  
  
Castiel tells him that he loves him, that he's beautiful and Dean is pretty sure at some point he mentions Gabriel, but he's too far gone to care.  
  
Dean kisses Cas back every time, meets his hips with every thrust, but when Cas angles his hips in a way that has his cock brushing Dean's prostate almost constantly, he's lost.  
  
And crying. Again.  
  
Because this is the closest to actually  _making love_ they've ever gotten. And it scares the living hell out of him. He has only ever cared about getting laid, but now he wants more, he wants all of Cas.   
  
Dean comes almost embarrassingly fast, screaming Castiel's name into the pillow he manages to pull over his face, again and again until the screams turn into faint whispers and he stops seeing white every time he opens his eyes to look at Cas.   
  
Fondling his sides, Castiel buries his face in Dean's neck and gives a few more forceful thrusts, each nailing Dean's abused, oversensitive prostate and making Dean mewl. As he finds his release, to which Dean's whispered "I love you" might or might not have been the last straw, Dean can feel himself clench tightly around Cas, milking him through the spasms of his orgasm.  
  
A few minutes later, both men, still naked and poorly cleaned up, are laying in bed and Dean tucks his head under Castiel's chin, lazily kissing his chest.   
  
"Hey, Cas?" he mumbles, words slurred because he can't afford the strength to open his mouth properly.  
  
"Hmm?" comes the hummed reply.  
  
"Stay?"  
  
"For how long?" Cas asks back, pulling Dean closer against him.   
  
Dean needs a moment to even understand the depth of the question and another moment to find the right answer. One that's not too cheesy, because that's just not him, but one that expresses what he's feeling.  
  
Before he answers Cas, though, Dean pulls the blanket up further, over their heads until they're completely surrounded by darkness. He can feel Cas' breath on his lips and for a second he thinks about closing his eyes just then, but he might fall asleep in an instant and he still wants to respond to Castiel after all.  
  
The pillow almost completely muffles the following words, but Dean can tell Cas hears him by the way his breath hitches.  
  
"As long as you'll have me."  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, I can't believe it, everything is going to be okay! Or is it? Maybe not. You're gonna have to wait for the next chapter.  
> But, as always: Did you like it? Let me know cx


	14. Michael Novak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter totally got out of hand, guys. It's almost 11k long, the longest chapter in the entire fic.  
> Thanks to Graciele for being an absolute fab beta and for encouraging me when I start ranting about how much I hate writing. :)
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

When Dean wakes up, there's an arm draped over his waist, settling heavy and comforting on his stomach.  
  
A warm body is pressed up behind him and hot breath brushes the back of his neck. "Good morning, Dean," a low voice murmurs into his shoulder, lips forming into a smile during Castiel's talking.   
  
Dean rolls over on his other side with something that sounds like a mix of a sigh and a moan.  
  
A gentle ray of sun is illuminating the top of Cas' head and makes a small area of his hair look almost golden. It looks like he's wearing a halo. "Morning, angel." He just can't resist.  
  
Cas, eyes still closed, smiles broadly and worms his arms around Dean, pulling him closer until he's flush against him. He makes a contented noise deep in his throat that gives Dean goosebumps and makes his breath falter for a split second because - shit - Castiel is in his bed.  
  
For a moment the terrible thought of the whole thing just being made up in his mind and that he might wake up any second from the wonderful dream this obviously has to be occurs to Dean. But when Cas starts trailing messy kisses up and down his neck, he knows it has to be real.  
  
Dean sighs happily and squeezes his leg between Castiel's.  
  
Cas chuckles and the small sound is so infectious that Dean can't help but laugh. It has to be quite early in the morning, Dean assumes, at least he can't hear the television running or Sam experimenting with pans and eggs in order to make Dean breakfast.  
  
Usually, it's Dean who makes breakfast for him, Sammy and John (if he's around), but lately Sam has started nagging Dean about how he had to learn to take care of himself and that Dean couldn't baby him forever. He's 14 after all and would turn 15 next month.  
  
So Dean, given no other choice, had agreed to letting him make breakfast on the weekends.  
  
Which had been a horrible mistake. The first time Sam had tried to make scrambled eggs with bacon, the result had been a pile of ashes on Dean's plate and nearly liquid eggs.  
  
Immediately, Dean finds himself wondering whether Cas can cook. Probably he can, at least he can make delicious soups.  
  
But all of his thoughts about food are forgotten when Cas moves.  
  
Panic rises in Dean's chest.  _Is he leaving? He's not leaving, is he? He can't leave, yet._ Cas, however, seems to have other things in mind than leaving Dean, in fact, he doesn't even leave Dean the time to say something before there are lips pressed against his own, still a little numb with sleep.  
  
He can feel Cas smile into the kiss and for several minutes both of them are just happy kind of snuggling closer to each other.  
  
Then, Castiel changes their position until he's hovering above Dean, one hand slipped under his back. Dean runs his hands down to Cas' waist, tracing his sharp hipbones gently and kissing Castiel again, a little more passionate this time, and it feels so good. So fucking _right_. Everything is perfect until -   
  
"Dean, why the fuck is your door locked?!"  
  
In an instant, all sleep and morning make-out is forgotten and Dean is wide awake, writhing to get out from underneath Cas, who blinks at him in confusion and raises an eyebrow.  
  
Dean puts a fingers over his own lips, hoping Cas will understand that he can't talk.   
  
John Winchester is outside his bedroom, joggling the door latch until it threatens to break away from the door. "Dean!" his father yells, frustration more than audible.  
  
"Yeah, yeah!" Dean yells back, shoving Cas out of his bed and over to the wall. He then reduces his voice to a hushed tone, hoping that John's accurate ear doesn't hear him. "Look, Cas, you need to leave. Now." Dean's heart stings as if someone had pierced it with an icicle.  
  
Sorrow makes Castiel's eyes turn into a darker shade of blue.   
  
"It's not like I don't want to introduce you to him, Cas. I just," Dean runs a hand through his hair, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder, "can't do it right now." Apparently he said the right thing because Cas gets that little smirk he sometimes flahes when he understands something.  
  
"I get it, Dean," he whispers back and reaches past Dean to fetch his jacket from the floor, shrugging it on over his bare chest. He's wearing nothing but boxer briefs and his dark jacket, shirt and pants thrown over his shoulder, and Dean really hates himself for having to let Cas go, especially when he kisses him again, brief and hard, and Dean literally can  _taste_ his feelings.  
  
"Don't worry, Dean," Cas mumbles into his hair as he presses another quick kiss to Dean's head before he's out of the window.  
  
Dean watches in both awe and worry how Cas fucking climbs down the downspout, jumps as he's about four feet above the ground and lands almost ridiculously elegant on the lawn. "I love you," Cas mouths, waving as he quickly makes his way to his car and turns around before Dean can mouth anything back.  
  
"Dean Winchester, open your fucking door!" John shouts and bangs his fist on the wood.  
  
"Jesus, hold on."  
  
Grabbing a random shirt from his closet and quickly tugging it over his head, Dean goes to unlock the door. Boxershorts and a t-shirt are a legitimate outfit for sleeping, right?   
  
John rudely pushes Dean out of his way, against the shelf with all of Dean's records neatly organised and positioned on the case boards in alphabetical order. If not by John's intrusion in his room already, Dean definitely gets pissed when his favorite Led Zeppelin record drops to the floor and cracks. "You're gonna pay for-"  
  
"Who were you talking to?" John interrupts him, giving Dean a disapproving glance.  
  
"Dad, I don't know what you're-"  
  
Again, John decides to butt in. "Your girlfriend? Boyfriend? Prostitute? The latter it is, ain't I right? Yeah, paying someone to love you."  
  
"No!" Dean is outright appalled.   
  
"Uh huh. If I ever see you with a guy in here," he takes a step closer to Dean, then another one until he's built up right in front of his son, "I might just lose my temper."   
  
And that's what really hurts. His father's blatant animosty for - as he likes to put it - faggots. "I didn't do anything, okay?" Dean sighs, tired of John's bullshit. Regardless of anything, John's arm, the one not holding a bottle of what looks like vodka or at least some other kind of hard liquor, dashes forward and misses Dean just for like two inches. "I didn't raise a goddamn queer."  
  
He storms out of the room and the following silence is deafening, back-breaking and just barely endurable.  
  
Dean only dares to leave his room when he hears John shouting, "Sammy, 'm gonna go!" and his little brother saying, "Okay, Dad."  
  
His steps are heavy as he drags his feet over the floor towards the stairs and gets into the kitchen to see what Sammy cooked. It's a surprise that everyone is up already - it's not even nine yet. "Hey, Dean," Sam mumbles meekly, scurrying back behind the counter and over to the stove to move eggs around in a pan.  
  
"You're gonna need more oil," Dean says flatly and slumps down on one of the chairs, dropping his head heavily in his hands. Closing his eyes, all Dean hears is the fizzling as Sam pours additional oil into the pan and then the scraping of the spatula on teflon.   
  
What Dean doesn't hear are footsteps coming closer.  
  
When Sam wraps his long, gangly arms around him, Dean doesn't bother lifting his head, he just sighs.  _Sam grew again, we're gonna have to go buy new clothes really soon._

 "It's okay, Dean."  
  
 _What's supposed to be okay? Nothing is fucking okay. Nothing.  
  
_ "Hmm."  
  
"I mean everyone has nightmares every now and then, it's nothing to be ashamed of," Sam continues, pulling back and returning to his place in front of the stove. Confusion must be clearly written across Dean's face because his little brother purses his lips and raises his eyebrows, turning on his bitchface.  
  
"I heard you."  
  
Dean still can't wrap his mind around it. "What?"  
  
"I don't know, man, it was weird. I went to the bathroom last night and suddenly you kinda started screaming." Sam shrugs one shoulder and picks at the collar of his shirt. "I think you dreamt about him. Cas. Don't you remember anything at all? Like, maybe you just had a nightmare involving him."  
  
 _Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker.  
  
_ Dean opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He can feel the heat rushing to his face and soon his cheeks are aflame. "Oh, well..." he drawls, awkwardly rubbing his hand over his neck and trying to adjust his shirt so it would cover up the hickey. It must have been one hell of a lucky coincidence that John didn't see it.  
  
"Do you wanna talk about it?" Sam asks, but wrinkles his nose as if he doesn't really like the thought.  
  
"No. Definitely no," Dean says hastily.  
  
He probably says it just a little bit  _too_ quickly, because Sam turns towards him and eyeballs him incredulously. The blush on Dean's cheeks hasn't entirely vanished yet, so his brother puts one and one together and his eyes widen in understanding.  
  
"Oh."  
  
The look on Sam's face is complete amusement, mixed with what could most likely be described as spitefulness. Dean's blush darkens and makes its way down his neck.  
  
"Wow. Gross, Dean," Sam cackles.   
  
"Shut it, you little brat," Dean snaps and has to look away. He can't stand the way his brother, his  _little, innocent_ brother, looks at him.  
  
"So you and Cas are together now? Like, together together?"  
  
 _Wait, are we?_ "I guess," he dodges and sends a devout ejaculation into Heaven that Sam will stop asking questions like that. Of course he doesn't.  
  
"Is that why Dad freaked out?"   
  
"I guess," Dean says again, picking himself up and trudging over to Sam. He snatches the spatula from his brother and quickly moves the eggs around, folding them in halves. "Hey, what are you doing? I was gonna make scrambled eggs, jerk."  
  
"Jeez, Sammy, your scrambled eggs taste worse than your eggs sunny-side up, we're having omelet today," Dean simply decides and pushes Sam over to the fridge. "Get me some bacon, lazy ass." Sam mutters something that sounds suspiciously like 'dickhead', but obeys.  
  
"We don't have any bacon, Dean," he tells him after a quick glance inside the fridge.  
  
"Fine, give me ham and cheese."  
  
"We're out of that, too."  
  
"Mushrooms?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Great, just great." John didn't buy any groceries again and Dean had wasted the rest of his pay to buy Sam a stupid compass and a Geography book.   
  
"It's okay, Dean," Sam tries, smiling, and takes the spatula from Dean to lift both not really-omelet omelets out of the pan and onto two plates.  
  
"No, it's not Sam. He just went to go buy more alcohol at the damn liquor store, didn't he?" Sam's silence is enough of an answer.   
  
They sit down, across from each other, and halfheartedly pick at their food, shoving it around on the porcelain plates - the only ones left since John's last freak-out during which he'd decided that he should throw them at Dean.  
  
"Did you introduce Cas to Dad, Dean?"  
  
Dean damn near chokes on the bite of egg in his mouth and coughs, waving his hand at Sam to keep him away while his face turns red from all the coughing. "No, I didn't," he admits then.  
  
"Will you?"  
  
"Probably."  
  
"What do you mean 'probably'. It's either yes or no, Dean," Sam insists and kicks Dean's shin under the table.   
  
"I meant what I said. Probably. If Dad's going to sober up, I...we have a better chance to get him to accept it. Because when he's drunk, he's as capricious as the weather." A sigh escapes Dean and he wishes he'd never gotten up in the first place because then he'd still be in bed with Cas.  
  
"But there's a weather forecast, Dean."  
  
Dean forces a smile on his lips. "I know, Sammy, I just wish there was something like that for John, too."  
  
Sam finishes his breakfast not long after, Dean completely lost his appetite. He's about to either dump his leftover omelet into the garbage can or offer it to Sam when his phone buzzes on the kitchen table. He must have left it there yesterday before he headed out to meet Castiel.  
  
Nearly shivering with anticipation, Dean swipes his thumb across the display, thrilled to find he's got a new message from Cas.   
  
His phone buzzes again. Another text. And another.  
  
 **I still have our food from yesterday!** the first message reads and for a second Dean is disappointed, but only until he gets to the second message.  
  
It's not even a real text message, it's a picture of Cas, holding the two plastic bags in one hand and helplessly staring at them as if he couldn't decide what to do with so much food.  
  
 **Can I count you in for breakfast at my place?  
  
** A wide grin spreads across Dean's face and all of a sudden all of his anger and pain are forgotten. Only this counts right now, him and Cas. And maybe the food.  
  
 **Totally, I'll be there asap.** Dean types as response.  
  
"Gotta go," he declares, hopping to his feet and grinning wickedly at his younger brother, "I'll see you later, Sammy."  
  
"Dean, where are you going?"  
  
"Having breakfast!" Dean is out of the front door, just in sweatpants and shirt, before he can hear Sam say anything more.  
  
It seems like Dean has miraculously recovered his appetite.   
  
He spends a perfect morning with Castiel, eating their dinner for breakfast in peaceful silence and playing footsie under the table. When Dean is with him, he sometimes is oblivious to the trouble at home because Castiel makes him happy, the simplicity of staring at each other over the table and knowing,  _feeling,_ the other one's affection makes him happy.  
  
Castiel makes him forget.  
  
  
********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
The first time Cas kisses Dean in public happens about a week later and not the way Dean expected.  
  
In fact, he never expected it to happen like this  _at all._  
  
  
"Yeah, how about you go suck a dick, Winchester?"   
  
Dean ignores Albert, leaving the classroom with quick steps, and makes his way over to Jamie. "Hey, man, you okay?" his best friend asks, resting a hand on Dean's shoulder. The message that Mr. Novak had been fired because of Dean Winchester, who was supposed to be as straight as a fucking ruler, had spread like wildfire and now, whenever Dean was walking down the hallway, there were girls giving him dirty looks and dudes whistling and making lewd comments on what they could do to him.  
  
There had been this one time when Dean had gone to the restrooms during his Spanish class and a guy, Tanner, had forced him to his knees and would have gone as far as shoving his dick down his throat, because Tanner has fucking strong, muscled arms and a really tight grip, if Dean hadn't managed to bring his knee up to the other guy's crotch.  
  
Since then he'd avoided going to the bathroom alone.  
  
"Sure," Dean huffs, shrugging Jamie's hand off his shoulder, and wants to turn away.  
  
"Dean, you can always, you know, talk to me. Don't think I can't see what this," Jamie gestures vaguely at a small group of girls chattering and peering over at them, "does to you."  
  
"I said I'm okay," he reassures his friend.  
  
Jamie shakes his head, of course he doesn't buy it, and Dean doesn't even know why he can't talk about how the whole new situation makes him feels.  
  
For one it makes him feel worthless, because everyone, though it's mostly dudes, talks about him like he's some cheap whore and not even a human being with actual feelings. It makes him uncomfortable to hear girls say his name in disgust and he hates the way Mr. Jefferson looks at him during class.  
  
"C'mon, let's go home," Jamie suggests and Dean is more than willing to accompany his friend to get his Chemistry book from his locker.  
  
But before they make it that far, Dean is shoved up against the wall, strong hands grabbing his collar and almost lifting him off the ground. Dean finds himself eye in eye with Tanner, behind him stands Albert, smirking and sneering. "Dean," he can hear Jamie say, but his best friend can't do anything to help Dean, he's a whole lot skinnier and smaller than Dean and wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell against guys like them.  
  
"Look at this," Tanner scoffs, pressing Dean a little tighter against the wall until Dean can barely breathe through his nose without inhaling the scent of cigarettes coming from the other boy.  
  
He twists his shoulders angrily, which just gets him an amused grin. "Dammit, Tanner, I don't have time for your crap."  
  
"Seems to me like you do have the time." Tanner signals Albert something with a nod of his head and just a second later Jamie's in the same position as Dean - pressed up against the wall with less than 4 inches space between him and the football player.  
  
No one else is anywhere to be seen, hallways just as empty as Dean's mind as he frantically tries to think of a way to get both Jamie and him out of this without either of them getting hurt.  
  
"How about you let me go?" he presses out through gritted teeth.  
  
Tanner smiles tauntingly at Dean and lets out a slow, long breath, that smells disgusting, just like smoke. "How about you shut up, Winchester, and use your mouth for other things?"   
  
While pinning Dean tightly to the wall with one brawny forearm, he uses his free hand to run it down Dean's side. Okay, that's been going on for long enough. Turning his head as Tanner leans in to force him into a kiss, Dean manages to push Tanner's arm, the one holding him in place, off long enough to duck away from it.  
  
Dean swivels around, knees Tanner in his stomach and brings his fist down, planting a well-directed punch on the back of his neck, so he blacks out. Not too forceful, though, because Dean, as much as he hates Tanner, doesn't want to kill the guy. He's happy he paid attention to that guru on TV, showing a bunch of girls how to protect themselves.  
  
Albert, however, seems to have pretty serious intentions in actually  _killing_ Jamie.  
  
He presses his thumbs slowly into the hollow between his collarbones, adding pressure until Jamie kicks his legs and gasps for breath. "How does that taste, McRagger?" Albert fleers at Dean's friend. "I like my chokers a little more loose, usually," Jamie pants out, still struggling against the considerably taller boy.  
  
With a yell, that he doesn't remember making, Dean rushes over to the two other guys, gets a hold of Albert's stupid fucking jersey, that all the girls go crazy over, and pulls him away from Jamie, who drops to the floor and stares at him gratefully. "Thanks, man," he chokes out.  
  
But Dean is busy sidestepping hacks of Albert's arm and dodging a cowardly kick aiming for his ankles and doesn't hear Jamie's words. "Nimble, Winchester!"  
  
What Albert obviously doesn't expect is Jamie standing up and simply headbutting him from behind. Not even Dean, who knows Jamie really well, saw that coming.  
  
Albert goes down with an unspoken insult hanging off his lips and lands on the floor, head tilted to one side.  
  
"Oh shit, oh shit, holy motherfucking shit!" Jamie screeches, crawling over to Albert's motionless body. "I killed him, Dean, did I just fucking kill him? Oh  _god!_ I don't wanna go to prison! You know what the guys in juvenile prison do to boys like me."  
  
A shudder runs through Jamie's body. "Terrible, terrible things, Dean!"  
  
He moves closer to Albert, who's still not moving, and holds a hand in front of his nose. "Oh god, Dean, he's not breathing, he is not  _breathing!"_  
  
Dean doesn't want to believe it, there's no way Jamie, who would never harm a fly, could possibly have killed Albert. So he kneels down beside his best friend and the passed-out football player and presses two fingers against his cervical artery.  
  
There's a pulse. He barely feels it at first, but it definitely is there.  
  
A sigh of relief slips out of Dean's lips and he turns to Jamie. "He's alive, dude, no need to panic, okay?" His friend widens his amber eyes. "Oh," comes the surprised answer.  
  
"Come on, let's get out of here," Dean breathes and offers Jamie a hand, pulling his friend up to his feet until he's standing straight. He reaches out and fixes Jamie's collar. "There, there, see? Got you all fixed up." The hint of a smile is playing around the sides of his best friend's mouth.   
  
 _Hm, Jamie is kind of attractive, actually.  
  
_ "But my Chemistry book," Jamie reminds him and Dean rolls his eyes. "You nerd! Forget about the book," Dean says emphatically because Tanner starts moving and groaning.  
  
Both boys rush down the hallway and kind of burst through the large, extremely ugly double door that makes the entrance to their college.  
  
"Thanks, man," Jamie says as they walk down the stairs, taking two steps at a time.  
  
"No, thank _you_ ," Dean insists and pats his friend's shoulder. It doesn't feel half as nice as Castiel's and he immediately scolds himself for comparing Jamie to Cas.  
  
"Winchester! McRagger!" an angry voice behind them shouts. Tanner.  
  
Dean and Jamie flash each other a quick glance, nod simultaneously and split up, running in different directions to their cars.   
  
"Dean!"  
  
His head whips up at the familiar voice. That's not even possible.  
  
Turns out it is possible for Cas to stand close to a '67 Chevy Impala, that suspiciously looks like - that  _is_ his baby. Before he can take joy in the way Cas almost is leaning against the engine hood, one hand hidden in the pocket of his dirty trenchcoat and screening his beautiful blue eyes from the sun with the other, Tanner's voice sounds again, closer this time.  
  
"Bet you liked my cock down your throat!"  
  
And because that's just the way Dean works, he keeps running until he's in Cas' arms, hands grabbing fistfuls of ugly ass trenchcoat. It's not exactly that Dean is a sissy when it comes to fights or anything, but he's had far enough lately, especially from John. He doesn't need that now.  
  
While breathing in Castiel's calming scent and burying his face in the crook of his neck, he believes he can hear him talking, at least his chest vibrates against his own. Maybe he's just humming something soothing.  
  
Either way it's working.  
  
Dean can blind everything out for a moment and just feel safe.   
  
This safety is taken away the second Cas takes his face in his hands, runs his thumbs over Dean's cheeks and stares right at him. The breath hitches in his throat and Dean pulls a face, trying to catch a glimpse at Tanner. Castiel doesn't let him, he leans in and presses their lips together.  
  
Time stands still.  
  
He can feel Cas' lips against his own and he can feel the gentle swipe of tongue on the verge of his bottom lip, but he can't quite grasp what's happening. Absently, Dean runs a hand up the back of Castiel's neck, enjoying the palpable shiver running down Cas' spine, and fists it in the mop of messy dark hair he's been thinking about all day.  
  
That's when he realizes what's happening.  
  
Castiel is kissing him. In front of Tanner. In front of Jamie. On the fucking parking lot where just everyone can see them. Literally everyone.  
  
And everyone includes Lisa Braeden, who walks by, arm in arm with Stacy Miller, and lets out a frustrated scream. But Dean barely even registers that, he's too busy finding the strength to pull away, breathing hard.   
  
He wants to look up, into Castiel's eyes, but they're fixed on something behind him.  
  
The usual twinkle and warmth is missing, they're nothing more than glaring little balls of pure abhorrence. "Ready to go, Dean?" he asks then.  
  
Dean can feel himself nod, still confused by what the fuck just happened, and lets Cas take the keyring out of his hand.   
  
His baby is his everything and Dean would never let anyone drive her, but he can't help it with Cas. He's just got that certain indefinable something that makes Dean want to scream his happiness into the sky, that has Dean smiling even when John is yelling and roaring, that makes him happier that he's even been.  
  
Castiel is pure and perfect and most important: Castiel is his.  
  
And Castiel is driving his baby right now, maneuvering her out of his narrow parking space and off the parking lot into the street. Smiling, he turns to Dean.  
  
"Hello, Dean."  
  
A wide, genuine smile spreads across his face automatically. Dean doesn't even want to hide his happiness, so he reaches over to the steering wheel and threads his fingers through Castiel's. "That was a pretty nice timing, Cas," he grins.  
  
"We had an appointment, Dean."  
  
"Oh, Jesus, did we? I'm sorry."  
  
"No, we didn't," Cas chuckles, squeezing Dean's hand, and keeps his eyes on the street in front of them. "You better not fuck her up, she's my baby." Lovingly, Dean runs his hand over the dashboard, gently patting it. "It's a very nice car," Cas nods.  
  
"Nice?! Dude, can't you hear her purr?" Dean imitates the sound of the Impala enthusiastically and Castiel laughs softly, lips pursing.  
  
Just to prove Cas how nice his baby can sound, he moves the hand not holding Cas' over to his thigh and squeezes tightly. Beside him, Cas gasps in surprise and instinctively presses down on the gas pedal, revving the engine. Dean tips his head back and laughs because outside the bedroom Castiel sometimes seems lost, like he belongs into another universe, somewhere better, cleaner.   
  
Playfully wiping his eye, Dean turns his head to look at Cas again.  
  
"Seriously, Cas, why have you been here?"  
  
"Can't I just pick you up from school?" Cas asks back.  
  
"Dude, it's not picking up if you just take my car," Dean explains, stretching his legs out as far as they will go in the narrow footwell area.  
  
"Actually, I was hoping you'd go for a walk with me." Castiel takes his eyes off the road, staring intensely at Dean, nearly boring a hole into his head with his eyes.  _That doesn't really sound good._ "Why?"  
  
"I wanted to talk to you about...something."  
  
Dean frowns. "And what is that something you wanna talk about, Cas?" He expects almost everything, ranging from 'I was just messing with you' to 'Marry me'. Not that he actually expects either of them. What he definitely wasn't prepared for is what eventually comes out of Cas' mouth.  
  
"I would like you to meet my family."  
  
Wide-eyed, Dean gapes at him. "Like...?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Wow, Cas, are you - I mean, are you sure?" That draws an unhappy noise from the other man and Dean doesn't like it. "Gabriel's been asking me to invite you for dinner ever since you met at the bar." Both him and Dean grin at the memory for a moment, it had been awkward, but kind of awesome.   
  
"Oh, you're just jealous because he likes me," Dean teases and winks coltishly at Cas.   
  
"Not really." A muscle in Castiel's jaw twitches and he narrows his eyes, lips a tight, thin line. "Sure. So, what's the big deal? I already know Gabriel, he seems to be a nice guy."  
  
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I would like you to meet Michael, my oldest brother."  
  
"And that's everything? Easy."  
  
But Castiel shakes his head, sighing. "You don't understand, Dean. Michael is not really happy with my, well, sexual orientation, he accepts it, but I've never, like, introduced someone to him. That's why I wanted to talk to you first and not simply invite you over."  
  
 _No one could possibly be worse about the whole liking men thing than John, seriously._ "I'm sure I can do this," Dean smiles and inches a little closer to Cas, not wanting to distract him and running the risk of his baby getting hurt in any way.  
  
A second passes before Dean corrects himself. "We can do this."  
  
Castiel dips his head ever so slightly and kind of rubs it against Dean's shoulder, one hand leaving the steering wheel and grabbing his chin, tugging Dean's head down a little until he just has to angle his own head upwards to slot their lips together. He's grateful, Dean can taste that.  
  
As much as he'd love to kiss Cas some more, he pulls back and mumbles, "Eyes on the road, dude."  
  
"Of course, Ma'am."  
  
"Hey!"  
  
  
********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
"Oh fuck, oh no, Sammy!" Dean shouts from his room.  
  
"What?" comes the shirty reply.  
  
Nearly cracking up, Dean stands in front of his closet, rifling through his drawers. "Sam, get the fuck here. Christ, I need your help!"  
  
"I'm busy, jerk."  
  
Dean grits his teeth. "Please!"  
  
"What's in it for me?" Sam's voice, suddenly very close, asks. As Dean turns around, his little brother is leaning against the door frame, chewing one of those obscene-smelling gums and grinning slightly.   
  
"Depends. What do you want."  
  
"Let me go out with Jess tonight, Dad isn't home, so I can't ask him," Sam demands.  
  
"Sure you - No, there's no way, Sammy. Look, I'm out tonight and Dad is god-knows-where and I'm not gonna let you go out with Jess when there's no one home."  
  
Disappointment creeps across Sam's face and he lowers his head. For a moment Dean is concerned he'd been too harsh, but then his brother lifts his head again, eyes wide and pleading. His puppy-eyes.  _I'm so screwed.  
  
_ "Saaaam," Dean whines.  
  
"Please, Dean, I'm not like you, I don't do gross things, we were just gonna watch a movie."  _I could watch a movie with Cas without doing 'gross' things, too.  
  
_ "Like I said, I don't think," Dean stops as Sam widens his brown eyes to an impossible size, "there's any problem with you seeing Jess tonight, just take care. I hate you."  
  
Sam grins widely and shakes his ridiculously long and fluffy hair, standing a little more upright now, and Dean can tell the boy is going to be taller than him one day. "So, what do you need my help with?"  
  
Ah, finally they're getting there.  
  
Dean turns his back to Sam and rummages through a pile of shirts spread out on his bed. "Which of them goes best with black jeans?"  
  
There's a moment of awkward silence before Sam bursts out laughing.   
  
"Fashion advice, Dean? Seriously?"   
  
Dean pulls a face; asking his stupid little brother was probably the worst idea he could've come up with. "Neverfuckingmind, it's not like I was being serious for once."  
  
"Christ, what's so important?" Sam wants to know, raising both hands as if he was defending himself. With a sigh, Dean lets himself fall on his mattress, folding his hands over his stomach and staring up at the ceiling.   
  
"I'm meeting Cas' family, man. Not only his brother Gabriel, who I've mistaken for his boyfriend once, but also his oldest brother Michael. And he's not really happy about Cas being gay, you know? Man, I just don't want to mess this up, I told Cas we could do that."  
  
Sam stays quiet, just murmurs something Dean can't understand. Then, after another minute of silence, he speaks up.  
  
"You are in love with Cas."  
  
"Thanks, Captain Obvious!" Dean snorts and turns onto his stomach, face buried in his duvet covers. Nothing happens after that, at least nothing Dean realizes at first, he's too busy acting like a prima donna. Silently, Sam moves closer to Dean's bed and starts picking up one shirt after the other, studying them closely and then comparing each to the pants Dean had thrown on the floor earlier.   
  
"What are you doing there, Sam?" Dean complains, annoyed that Sam is disarraying his clothes.  
  
"Picking out something nice for you, shut up, I'm concentrated."   
  
Peering over a small hill in the covers, Dean watches Sam bustle around with his shirts and pants and even a blazer he didn't even know about. He gets a little upset about the fact that this is his  _baby_ brother digging through his underwear drawer, but that's the only chance he has on a decent outfit for tonight. Sure, he could call Cas, but he wants to get this done by himself - well, almost. But Sam is family, that counts as himself.   
  
Castiel had told him that Michael would probably ask a bunch of questions about their relationship and personal facts, so Dean had been smart enough to write a mental questionnaire with things he could think of that would be interesting for an older brother.  
  
"Done," Sam states, voice dripping with self-satisfaction.  
  
Expecting the worst, Dean gets up, walks around the bed and widens his eyes.  
  
In front of him, laid out on the bedroom floor, are black pants, that Sam must have dug out of his closet, a green shirt and a black blazer. "The green will bring out your eyes," Sam explains, poking the shirt with his toe.  
  
"God, Sam, you're such a girl."  
  
"Yeah, well, screw you, too, man, I just saved your ass!"  
  
And Sam is right, he totally saved Dean from meeting Michael dressed in sweats and a scruffy band tee. "Right, thanks, Sammy." But his brother has already left the room and is making his way to the-   
  
"Oh, no! Don't even think about it! I'm showering first, bitch." Dean sprints out of his room, catching up with Sam and wraps his arms around his little brother's waist, twirling him around the way he did when Sammy was six until they're both dizzy and neither can walk straight.   
  
But Dean has experience and manages to slip inside the bathroom and turn the key in the lock just in time before Sam crashes into the door. "I hate you, Dean," he can hear him grumble, but the shower spray is already running and moistening his skin and Dean can't get himself to even open his eyes again.  
  
The water doesn't have its usual calming effect, instead, it makes Dean antsy and jumpy and he feels like it's more than a thousand degrees too hot. That's why he just quickly rinses himself and washes his hair before stepping out of the shower again.   
  
He's supposed to meet Cas at 6 in front of his house, so he could pick him up and drive to Michael's place. Apparently, Michael had persisted on having dinner in his  _humble four walls,_ which surely, Dean guesses, would turn out to be more of a palace than a house.  
  
"Get out of the bathroom, jerk," Sam blares at him from outside the door.  
  
 _Annoying little brat.  
  
_ But Dean does him the favor of hurrying up - just because he picked out such a nice outfit.  
  
He gets dressed rather quickly, making sure everything is in place. Hell, he even checks if the waistband of his boxershorts is even and in a line, not sticking out over the edge of his pants. Dean really wants everything to work, just this one time.  
  
Of course John doesn't know about any of this; not that he'd care in the first place.  
  
Dean just wishes he'd have a father he could tell that he's going to meet his boyfriend's family for the first time and that he's as nervous as he'd been when he performed Peter Pan seven years ago.  
  
At 6 o'clock sharp, a toot from outside the window startles Dean, who'd just finished shaving. There's barely any time left for a last, quick glance in the mirror.  
  
It would have to do.  
  
  
********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
Cas turns out to be a fast driver, and a very good one, too.  
  
He barely talks during their ride to Michael's house, though he tells Dean about his big brother's bias for good behavior. Soon Dean's head is swimming from the all the stuff he's supposed to remember, like, where the cutlery on the table goes and how to describe wine.   
  
"What the hell, Cas? I don't even like wine that much, I'm a beer guy!"  
  
Castiel just shrugs apologetically. "There will be wine and Michael will ask how you like it, so just describe exactly what you're tasting, okay?"   
  
Dean is more than unhappy with Castiel's oldest brother being so complicated and obviously having extremely high expectations of him.  
  
"Where does Michael live?" Dean asks to get the thought of sipping disgusting, expensive-as-hell wine later this evening out of his head. "Sunrise Avenue," Cas replies, turning right at the next corner and pulling the car into a narrow alleyway, huge buildings on either side on the street darkening everything. The car grinds to a sudden halt.  
  
"Um, you're not like gonna murder me and then toss my corpse in the garbage container over there, right, Cas?" Dean asks, nervously letting his eyes flick up at Cas', surprised to find his pupils dilated.  
  
"I haven't seen you all week, Dean, believe me, killing you is so far from what I really want to do right now," Castiel murmurs, voice husky and slightly catching in his throat.  
  
And, damn, Cas is right, Dean didn't get to see Castiel for more than 5 days in a row because he's been busy with studying and catching up on stuff he missed at school and Castiel has had two job interviews during those days and had to travel to Nebraska for one of them.  
  
So Dean wouldn't mind having a little incident happening right now, but Michael probably is already waiting for them. "Cas," he mumbles, "we can't, the dinner.."  
  
"We're supposed to be there at seven, it's not even half past six, yet," Castiel breathes hot against Dean's neck, shifting in his seat, so he can slide over onto Dean's seat, pushing his legs apart. "Cas, we can't - car, cleaning, I can't - oh - my pants are mmh," Dean babbles as Castiel makes him hook his legs around his waist and pulls the lever at the side of the co-driver's seat that makes the backrest drop backwards and all air is punched out of his lungs. Or maybe it was the kiss Castiel presses against his lips - Dean honestly doesn't know.  
  
"I wish we had more time," Cas growls against the skin of Dean's throat.  
  
He feels helpless, writhing on his back with no space to even move his right arm, that's currently kind of pinned to his side, anywhere. And before Dean can think about this tiny inconvenience too much, Cas dips his head and opens the first three buttons of Dean's green shirt.  
  
Tugging the thin fabric aside, Cas bares his chest and immediately lowers his fucking plump, chapped lips to Dean's nipple, biting and sucking the pink bud into his mouth.   
  
Dean arcs his back off the seat with a gasp, trying to ignore the way his pants are tautening over his ass and growing erection. "Cas, hey, you need to- are you even-  _hey!"_ he whimpers as Castiel trails hungry kisses over to Dean's other nipple, the other one left red and erect behind.  
  
"Stop, Cas," Dean moans, screwing his eyes shut, because as good as the teeth on his nipple feel, his erection is fucking hard and painful against his zipper and it has reached the point where the pain-pleasure it had been at first has turned into simple pain.   
  
Cas kisses him again, gently this time, and untangles his legs from his waist, lifting his own leg, so there's just one leg between Dean's now.  
  
"Is it better like this now?" Cas asks, not wanting to stop.  
  
"Yes, yes," Dean whispers, grabbing Castiel's collar and urging him back down. The air in the car soon is filled with Dean's breathless moans and Cas' stifled grunts and the time is forgotten. Lips crash against lips with force, Cas' teeth catch Dean's lower lip and suck it into his hot, wet mouth.   
  
What felt like an improvement at first, becomes pure torture for Dean because in their current position he can feel Castiel's erection against his thigh, rubbing against his own from time to time. The friction on the bulge in Dean's pants, that's actually _more_ than visiblenow, is nearly too much.  
  
"Castiel," he presses out, trying to push the other man off him.  
  
Cas, however, has taken interest in biting and sucking at the mound underneath Dean's navel, which Dean never even had considered to be a turn-on. Dean's blazer is somewhere in the backseat and his neatly buttoned shirt open and crumpled up where Castiel's hands had been bunching it.   
  
"Christ, Cas, stop for a minute" Dean hisses.  
  
Reluctantly, Castiel pulls back, blue irises swallowed by black and lips parted, breath coming out in shallow pants, and stares at Dean. "I'm serious, Cas, if you don't stop- ," Dean trails off. He really doesn't want to say it.  
  
"Then what?" Cas smirks, flicking his tongue over his nipple again. "Stop, I can't think clearly, Cas."  
  
"If I don't stop, then what?"   
  
Now, Castiel is using his thumbs and index fingers on Dean's nipples, rubbing and pinching, pulling and twisting and- "Oh god," is all Dean manages to choke out before he's digging his nails into his palms. Hard. Hard enough to will the wave of pleasure, that was about to flood his pants, down.  
  
"Dammit, Cas, I don't want to come in my fucking pants!"  
  
"You've been giving me a hard time, too, Dean," Cas breathes, glancing down at where Dean has been rubbing his thigh almost frantically against his crotch.  
  
Dean grins, but his heart is not really in it, it's still trying to force his boner down. "Sorry about that."  
  
They manage to drive to Michael's house without either of them having his dick squeezed out, but Dean's messed up hair and Castiel's swollen lips are still evidence of their little encounter.  
  
Michael's house is, as expected, huge.  
  
"Dude, that's a freaking castle!" Dean exclaims, pressing his cheek against the window. The exterior walls are a soft light-blue, the finery not the tiniest bit flaked off. A long path of pebble stones is curling through a lawn, that Dean bets looks like in a fairy tale when there's dew on the grass in the morning.  
  
At first, he thought the whole estate consisted of just a front garden and a house, but there's more to it as he discovers only a second later, green, wide eyes reflecting in the window of Castiel's Mercedes.  
  
An annex is adjoining to the in any case huge house, extending almost to the fence seperarting the cleanliness of the property from the manky sideway. On the right side of the housing development is an actual turret with a small, tapered roof made from red clapboards. Okay, maybe the turret is a little bit extreme and over the top, but still beautiful.  
  
Dean's breath actually falters when he spots a dog running through the front garden.  
  
It's a cute dog, one that looks like it wants to be cuddled and given treats and just so  _loyal,_ Dean honestly can't believe that Michael might actually be as bad as Cas had made him out to be.  
  
"The annex over there was for the attendants in the medieval times, Michael restored the building all by himself," Castiel tells him, smoothing a hand down his sleeve and trying to get a wrinkle Dean left there out.  
  
Dean nods, baffled, and Cas curses.   
  
"We're late."  
  
"That's because you couldn't keep your hands to yourself for once!"  
  
Castiel gives Dean a smirk. "Can you blame me?"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
Quickly, both men get out of the car, close the distance to the gate in Michael's white picket fence and walk down the stupid pebble path, stones making Dean's feet slip. The walk to the arched front door, that looks just like in the books about knights Dean used to love, takes - as it seems to Dean - longer than their make-out session in the car.  
  
"Ready?" Castiel asks.  
  
"Yeah," Dean sighs and wraps his arms around Castiel once more, nuzzling his neck just to be close. "Need you, Cas," he whispers against the skin there and Cas kisses the side of his head.  
  
"I love you, too."  
  
"Good evening, Castiel," a voice next to them sounds and Dean jumps, untangling his arms from where they'd been wrapped around Cas' shoulders. "Oh, Jesus," he mumbles, taking another step back, cheeks on fire, but Castiel hauls him back by his hand and Dean bumps against his shoulder.  
  
"Hello, Michael, this is my boyfriend. Dean."  
  
A warm feeling runs through him as Castiel introduces him as his _boyfriend_.  
  
"Good evening, sir," Dean greets respectfully, head lowered.  
  
To his surprise, Michael laughs and then a hand with a slim, silver ring on his fourth finger comes into his field of vision. "Please, call me Michael."  
  
Dean looks up, meeting Michael's eyes and is truly astonished for a moment. He's expected Michael to look more like Gabriel, ash blonde hair and green eyes.  
  
Instead, Michael has short, dark hair - almost like Castiel's, but not nearly as messy - and grey-looking eyes, that the smile he flashes at Dean doesn't quite reach. "Good evening, Michael, I'm Dean. Dean Winchester," Dean gives another try, happy his voice doesn't sound as insecure as he's feeling, and shakes Cas' brother's hand.  
  
"I'm sorry for our belatedness," Castiel says, "we had to stop to refuel the car.  
  
Michael's dark eyes run over his younger brother, stop for a second at the uneven collar, then sweep over to Dean, taking in the mussed up hair and crinkles in his blazer and shirt. "Of course," he answers sternly, not batting an eyelash, and Dean feels increasingly uncomfortable.  
  
"Come on in," Michael smiles then, but the smile is totally fake.  
  
They step into a huge, and by huge Dean means  _monstrously_ spacious, entrance hall from where three stairs lead to the next floor. Dean cringes at the echo every single one of his steps makes and only manages to relax a little when Cas shows mercy and threads his fingers through his.  
  
A long, red carpet takes up nearly all the room on the floor, covering the shining marble plates that are where in Dean's house are timber pilings.   
  
"How've you been, Castiel?" Michael asks, guiding them over to a cloak room where they're allowed to slip out of their jackets and hang them on a hat stand.  
  
"Can't complain, really," Cas answers and shoots Dean a glance that unmistakably says: One word about me getting fired and you're a dead man. "You?"  
  
"Oh, I've been grand," Michael tells him and for the first time since he opened the door he sounds honestly contented, "I just made a big deal with 2MAD-Radio, we're gonna make it straight to the top, my friend!"  
  
"Michael is pretty much the owner of uhh," Cas wants to explains, but can't seem to remember the name of what Michael owns.  
  
Lucky enough, Michael turns to Dean now as well. "It's called 'Open Gates Radio Network', but that's more than just a mouthful. Call it OG-Radio," he says conversationally. "Oh, alright," Dean nods because, seriously, what else should he do?  
  
"Dean Winchester, the jealous boyfriend!" a happy voice exclaims and the next second there are arms around Dean and laughter rumbling next to his ear. "Woah," he manages to make before Gabriel slaps his back a little too hard - probably a revenge for the misunderstanding, which, obviously, hadn't been Dean's fault. At least he's not the one sitting that close together with his brother.   
  
"Hey, Gabriel," Dean says and can't help but smile.  
  
It's like Gabriel lit up the room in a tempest of energy and high spirits.  
  
The four of them spend a few minutes with small-talk, then Michael decides that they should go to the dining-hall (Of  _course_ Michael Novak has to have a freaking dining-hall) because otherwise the food will get cold.  
  
In fact, the dining-hall is split up in two rooms. One is really large, with a dome-like ceiling that reminds Dean of the restaurant Cas had taken him to on his birthday, the other one is almost homelike. It's appointed with a light-brown, wooden table and wooden chairs with red seat cushions that match the color of the carpet in the entrance hall.  
  
All in all, everything in Michael's house, mansion, fairy castle (whatever, really), seems to be perfectly concerted.   
  
From the smaller dining room, a door leads to a kitchen that isn't as big as Castiel's, but easily as expensively furnished. There are brilliant white counters and a steely exhaust hood installed above a precious-looking oven with more buttons and modulators than Dean has ever seen on an oven.  
  
But what really catches Dean's eye is the fridge.  
  
Wait, the fridges.  
  
There's two of them, both enormous and Dean can feel his fingers twitch with the urge of opening the doors, searching for ingredients and whipping up something nice for dinner, but he can't. Maybe one day he can, when he's friends with Michael and Cas and him are over for a visit again and - Oh.  
  
Dean stops walking and Gabriel barely has the time to swerve.  
  
He just thought about spending a long time with Cas and that makes one thing crystal clear: He's undeniably, utterly and helplessly in love with the man Gabriel currently has in a headlock, rubbing his knuckles against Castiel's skull.  
  
Michael shouts something and Gabriel lets go of his little brother that looks both embarrassed and pissed off.  
  
"Gabe, I'm a 24-year-old man."  
  
But his older brother just shrugs. "You're still Cassie, my little brother."  
  
With a long-suffering sigh, that Dean himself makes whenever Sam is awfully annoying, Michael grabs three plastic bags from the smallest counter. "I hope you don't mind I bought take-out, it's from the best Chinese restaurant in Kansas."   
  
 _If Chinese means chopsticks, I'm so fucked.  
  
_ Dean is so fucked, he really is.  
  
When Michael takes four bowls out of one of the cupboards, he thinks he might be saved, but as soon as the bowls are set down on the table, filled with a kind of soup with meatballs and vegetables floating around in it and a pair of chopsticks is put beside each bowl, Dean loses all hope.  
  
"How?" he whispers into Cas' ear as he pulls the younger man against his side, dipping his head to rub it against Dean's cheek. "Chopsticks," Cas kisses into his skin.  
  
The brief contact works wonders on Dean, suddenly encouraged.  
  
"Hey, uh, Michael, you need a hand?"  
  
The other man looks up from the arrangement of wine bottles on a sideboard. "That would be very friendly. If you could get four glasses for white whine from the cream-colored cupboard?"   
  
"Yeah, I can do that," Dean says, keeping the 'hopefully' to himself.  
  
Almost anxiously, Dean opens the cupboard and finds himself stunned by the silence. The hinges don't creak. But his fears are more than confirmed, the cupboard is stuffed with glasses in various shapes and sizes. How the hell is he supposed to know which ones are for white wine?  
  
Okay, first things first.  
  
There are the small glasses he pours ladies shots in when he's working at Ellen's bar and the slightly bulgy ones for whiskey. On the top shelf board are beer mugs and the svelte, small champagne glasses, Dean recognizes them, but the rest - he has no clue about those.  
  
Dean spots four glasses with rolling verges and decides that, yes, those are glasses for white wine. 

"I didn't know you're a wine connoisseur, Dean," Michael whistles, obviously surprised as Dean returns to the dining room with the required glasses. "I aim to surprise," Dean grins and as he sets the glasses down on the table, exactly where Cas had told him to earlier in the car, he feels quite good.  
  
Castiel smiles fondly and briefly kisses Dean, whose face goes up in flames. "Cas." "Dean, it's cool," Gabriel laughs and pulls out two chairs for him and Cas. "Sit."  
  
Michael and Gabriel take a seat across from them, picking up their chopsticks.  
  
While stuggling to get his chopsticks in a position that doesn't have them pressing against his knuckles, Dean studies Michael's features. He doesn't exactly look offended, but not relaxed either.  
  
When everyone's finally seated - Cas had insisted on checking on Pip, Michael's crossbreed dog - Michael raises his glass and fixes his eyes on Dean's, trying to bore a hole through his head and into his soul and it seems to work. "To Castiel and Dean," he says with a suspiciously calm voice.  
  
Dean looks back at Cas' brother, but eventually the dark haired man stares him down.   
  
As they clink glasses, Dean therefore peers over at Gabriel, who smiles reassuringly, and then at Cas and meets his blue eyes.  
  
All tension is taken off him immediately and Dean can feel the grin spread across his face.  
  
Carefully seperating the chopsticks from each other, Dean dips them into the bowl, trying to get them to pick up one of those funny little meatballs. He actually manages to lift it to his mouth without dropping it into his lap or shooting it in Michael's face.  
  
The meat is spicier than expected, but still delicious, and Dean even finds out that vegetables can taste good.  
  
They're about halfway through their food, when Michael clears his throat and places his chopsticks next to the bowl of Chinese porcelain.  
  
"So, Dean," he addresses him and Dean follows suit, putting his chopsticks down.  
  
 _Time for protective brother, okay. Smooth, Winchester, smooth like...no, no, no panties. Oh Christ, oh no._  
  
"Do you have siblings, Dean?"  
  
 _Okay, yes, I can do that._ "Yes, I have two brothers, well one is only my half-brother. Sammy lives at home with my father and me. The other one's called Adam, living in Minnesota with his mother, he's a good kid," Dean tells him because he can talk about that, that's easy.  
  
Michael nods thoughtfully and he actually looks like he's interested in everything Dean says. Fishing another one of those meatballs out of the soup, Cas' big brother frowns, like he's trying to remember something. "Your father, you said, lives with your brother and you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"What does he work as?"  
  
 _Crap._ "Oh, he's currently taking a break, visiting Adam, you know?" Dean prays that any of what he just said is true.   
  
"I see." He flashes a smile, showing the tiniest hint of teeth and Dean can't tell whether this one is real or not. "How do you like the wine, Dean?"  
  
Cas nudges his ankle under the table, probably by mistake, and Dean takes another sip of wine to buy himself some time to ponder about it, but Cas brushes his ankle again and, okay, that might have been an accident as well, but the next five times definitely aren't.  
  
Shooting Castiel an angry glance, Dean turns his head to his boyfriend and raises a questioning eyebrow.  
  
Castiel just smiles widely, this stupid gum-showing grin, and pecks his lips.  
  
Across from them, Michael, who Dean expected to stay calm even when Gabriel was poking his eyeball or something, drops his chopsticks into his bowl, soup sloshing onto the nightblue napkin. Gabriel, on the other hand, makes a cheering noise and slaps Michael's back.  
  
"Oh, uh, the wine, right," Dean remembers and takes another sip, raising his glass high enough to blind out Michael's eyes.  
  
"It takes like exotic fruits, actually, and a little like, maybe, herbs?"  
  
Michael just nods, eyes uneasily wandering from Cas to Dean and back to Cas.  
  
"Hey, is there fennel in it? I swear I could have tasted fennel!"  
  
"That's, well, correct. It's a Rueda, a vintage wine, it has a nice leaving, doesn't it?" Michael asks and seems to have picked up courage. "Your taste buds seem to be very virtuoso."  
  
"I'm quite into cooking," Dean admits, running a hand through his hair and playing with his napkin, and shrugs the compliment off as if it meant nothing to him. Deep inside, though, he cherishes the words, especially since they're coming from Michael.  
  
They continue eating and while Cas and Gabriel are bickering with each other about the question "Burgers or Hot Dogs?", Michael goes back to asking Dean questions, about him, his school and pretty much everything Dean can think of.  
  
"Do you have a job?"  
  
"Yeah, I work at my uncle Bobby's car repair shop and on free evenings I work as a bartender at The Roadhouse."  
  
"That's quite impressive," Michael smiles and gives him an approving nod.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Finishing his soup is the worst part about the evening because Dean gets told to just  _slurp_ it right from the bowl (Apparently, people in China do that to let the cook know they liked it) and he feels like a complete idiot doing that, even though the fact that Cas makes a mess with his soup does cheer him up a little.  
  
"Castiel, would you mind getting the large bowl from the fridge? The one covered by tin foil?"  
  
Cas knits his brows, but stands up to get the desired bowl, squeezing Dean's shoulder tightly as he goes. "So, Dean, does Castiel treat you right?" Michael wants to know, suddenly all serious again and leaning in a little, so Castiel won't hear him.  
  
"Yes, I assure you. He definitely does."  
  
Michael looks satisfied until Gabriel decides to throw in his two cents worth. "Bet treating isn't the only thing Castiel does right, hm?" he laughs just loud enough for Cas to hear.  
  
He must have heard his brother's words because there's a rattling sound coming from the kitchen only a second after Gabriel has finished speaking. Dean shifts in his seat, suddenly very flustered, and ducks his head between his shoulders. "Well?" Gabriel digs deeper.  
  
"He - Cas also makes very good soups," Dean dodges. He knows exactly what Gabriel has been aiming at, but he's not that dumb.  
  
Even Michael laughs this time and the entire atmosphere becomes more alacritous.  
  
At least until Castiel returns with a huge bowl of -  _I hate you, Michael_ \- watermelon. Dean absolutely loves watermelon, the problem is just that he can't eat it properly and he stongly suspects the ones that can, like Sammy, of cheating somehow.  
  
As Castiel slides into the chair next to him, Dean can see the tips of his ears are still flushed.  
  
Michael hands everyone two pieces of melon. "I'm sorry there's so little. This literally was the only one they had left at the store." But no one minds, Gabriel even pretends to wipe sweat off his forehead. "Oh, come on, Gabe, don't act like you don't like it," Michael complains.  
  
"I do, I just prefer really sweet things," he whines and pulls a piece of hard candy out of his pocket, waving it in Michael's face.   
  
"You're still behaving like you're 5, brother." The oldest Novak rolls his eyes and starts eating his watermelon without wasting the tiniest drop of juice.   
  
Hesitantly, Dean picks out the smaller of the two pieces and takes an infinitesimal bite.  
  
The result is sticky watermelon juice trickling down his lip, over his cheek and dripping onto his shirt. It's just a small dark spot on the fabric, but he can see it and he can tell by the way Michael's lips are pursing that he can, too.  
  
With a contemptuous smile on his thin lips, he takes another bite - again, without making a mess.  
  
They go on like this for a while. Michael takes a bite, perfectly, and waits for Dean to follow, which always ends with juice around Dean's mouth and either on his shirt or pants.   
  
Just as Dean is taking a particularly huge bite to impress his counterpart, Michael asks, "What do you expect from the relationship?"  
  
"Michael!" Castiel exclaims indignantly.  
  
Michael just waves his hand at Cas and keeps staring at Dean, eyes hard and challenging.  
  
"I - I think," Dean mumbles around his mouthful of watermelon, but Castiel interrupts him. "You don't have to answer that."  
  
But Dean wants to, that's the least he can do for Cas. "You know, when I was picking out the glasses for your fancy wine, I noticed your fridges," he starts and next to him he can hear Castiel sigh deeply. "No, Cas, listen."  
  
"I saw your fridges, alright, and all I could think of was that I'd like to cook for you in two years or so maybe, when you're okay with having gays around you because I kind of pictured myself with Cas in a few years from now and if that doesn't answer your question, then I don't have any idea how to explain it."  
  
There's a moment in which Dean doubts his decision and almost is about to apologize for being rude, but then Castiel makes a surprised noise and Gabriel says, "Hold me, Mikey, that was beautiful."  
  
"I think I've done you wrong, Dean," Michael says eventually, shaking his head just the slightest bit.  
  
After finishing dinner, Michael insists that everyone just leaves their dishes on the table because his housemaid would do that for them. Then, he leads Castiel into another room and closes the door, so Dean is left with Gabriel, who instantly strolls over to him, pats his shoulder and grins. "Good job, man."  
  
Dean manages a weak smile, but what he really needs right now is Cas.   
  
Without him he feels lost and alone and when the damn door finally opens again he can't restrain himself from closing the distance and taking Castiel's hand in his.  
  
"Thank you Michael, but we'll let ourselves out, you've done enough," Castiel gets rid off his brother, probably still angry that he asked Dean such a personal question.  
  
"Have it your way," Michael shrugs. He's trying to play it down, but his eyes give away that he's insulted by his little brother's behavior. "It was nice meeting you, Dean, again, I'm sorry I misjudged you," Michael turns to him. "Same for you. You're not actually  _that_ bad," Dean jokes, though a part of him means exactly that.  
  
"Night, boys, stay safe," Gabriel grins, laughing at the double entendre of his words.  
  
"Night, Gabriel," Dean and Castiel say simultaneously.  
  
As soon as Michael's front door clunks shut behind them, Dean lets out a deep breath and relaxes completely for the first time this evening. Castiel looks pretty relieved himself and as he turns to face Dean, he's smiling.  
  
"Thank you, Dean."  
  
"For what?"  
  
But Castiel just pulls him flush against his chest, face in his neck, and mumbles "Thank you" over and over again. "You don't understand how much this meant to me," he says as he pulls back.  
  
"I take it I did a good job?" Dean asks to make sure.  
  
"Michael likes you."  
  
"Oh, does he? I should give him my number, he could call me. Yeah, maybe I should do that."  
  
"Don't you dare," Cas growls playfully and Dean laughs, squinting at the fluorescent neon light of a street lamp on their way to Castiel's car.  
  
"Jesus, Cas, I'm just joking."  
  
"Oh," Cas makes and suddenly starts laughing.  
  
It's the loudest he's ever laughed in Dean's presence. To Dean it's the most beautiful sound in the world and all he can think of as he kisses Cas, his lips still faintly tasting like watermelon, is that he would love to wake up to that laughter at some point in his life and know that it's not going to leave.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know why John is such an asshole, I guess it's because I see him that way and my fics reflect that.
> 
> Did you like this? Show meee, you guys. \\(^-^)/
> 
> PS: I wanted to thank each and everyone of you for leaving comments, kudos and bookmarks, they literally make my day and I love reading your feedback. Thanks for sticking around and helping Dean and Cas through this fic!


	15. Encomia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the update took so long, I had a whole lot of stuff to do. There's barely any plot happening this chapter, mostly smut.

"Thank you, Dean, thank you."  
  
"Cas, it's alright, you can stop now," Dean protests, feeling slightly awkward already. During the seemingly endless process of unlocking the car doors and buckling their seat belts, Castiel hasn't said anything but "Thank you" and on occasion his name.   
  
 _"Thank you."  
  
_ A warm hand creeps across the handbrake and settles on his hip, the angle just a little uncomfortable for Cas. "Don't mention it, we're good now, aren't we?" Dean smiles, moving his own hand to place it atop of Castiel's.  
  
Dean likes Castiel's hands. The insides are soft and almost velvety smooth, not callused like his own from working with cars and fixing engines and scrubbing the bathrooms at The Roadhouse with raggy towels because Ellen won't get off her lazy ass and buy proper mops. What he especially adores about Cas' hands are his nails, as weird as that may sound, but they are the perfect length.   
  
Short enough not to hurt Dean while opening him up, but long enough to gently scrape the sensitive flesh that is the inside of his thighs.  
  
"Dean, thank you." Okay, slowly but surely Cas goes over the top with the praising.  
  
Castiel flips his hand, so it's on its back and he can intertwine his slender fingers with Dean's. "I mean it, Dean." And Dean knows that much. "I know, Cas, I just - you can stop with the encomium now."  
  
A rumbling laughter fills the car and even though it's not nearly as loud or jaunty as the previous one, it makes Dean's skin tingle and buzz. "I could write a whole book of encomia right now and it wouldn't even begin to describe how  _grateful_ I am," Castiel tells him.  
  
"Besides, writing a book would take way too long," Dean adds and gives Castiel's hand a light squeeze.  
  
The response is immediate and not expected.  
  
At lightning speed, Cas whips around, facing Dean, and tilts his head to eye him over slowly, molecule for molecule dissolving under the blue of his eyes like grains of sand carried away by the ocean.  
  
Dean isn't drowning, though, he's floating.  
  
"I could write you another kind of encomium, however, if you're interested," Castiel offers, gaze lingering on a spot below Dean's chin. "Are you, uh, being for real right now?" Dean asks, utterly surprised by the turn of things.  
  
"Yes, of course," Cas replies, and if it hadn't been for the midget smirk he gives him, Dean would totally have bought it.   
  
"So you're gonna write something about how great I am?" Dean teases, cocking his eyebrows.  
  
The man in the driver's seat withdraws his hand from underneath Dean's and gives a brief nod. "Positive, I'll just have to get my paper, would you help me search?"  
  
"I'd offer you some of mine if I had any," Dean grins because two can play this game, he can definitely play along and make the whole thing work. "That's just a shame," Castiel sighs, drumming his fingers on the leather of the steering wheel. "You don't happen to know where I could possibly find some, do you?"  
  
Pretending to think about if for a moment, Dean brushes his thumb over his chin and knits his brows.   
  
After a second of hesitation, he leans forward and angles his shoulders, so Castiel won't see what he's doing until it's done. Ever so quickly he types Cas' address into the route guidance system that he practically never uses and as he's finished, Dean waits for the tinny voice to sound.  
  
"Drive 500 meters, then turn left."  
  
"I guess now you have your directions," Dean explains as he leans back in his seat, wiggling his shoulders once more to shimmy out of his blazer.  _Stupid thing, only causes trouble._

There's a familiar twinkle in Castiel's eyes as he reverses out of the parking space and does as the satnav says. "Thank you very much, Mr. Winchester."  
  
A shudder runs through Dean at the last words, it makes him remember all the times at school when they had to pretend to be nothing more than a student and his teacher. Though the memory is kind of nice, considering they always could look at each other in a certain way to let the other know there was more behind  _Mr. Winchester_ and  _Mr. Novak,_ Dean is quite happy they don't have to do that anymore.  
  
"Always a pleasure," he replies and feels somewhat relieved as his voice doesn't sound as shaky as he's actually feeling. If Dean is completely honest with himself, he has no idea what Cas meant by saying he'd write him some other kind of encomium, but he'd definitely bet any money that it involves less clothes than they're currently wearing.  
  
Not that he's not totally in for that, he's just not sure what to expect.  
  
 _He could mark me or something, maybe suck words into my skin. Oh that would be nice, Jesus, that would just be so fucking nice.  
  
_ The moan slipping from his lips is disguised with a cough.   
  
"Take the drive to your right," the satnav announces after a while of driving, which had been very uncomfortable for Dean and very amusing for Castiel. Coming to think about it, it's not even Dean's fault, in fact, it's Castiel's for starting the idea in his mind - at least that's what Dean keeps telling himself.  
  
"I'm sure I should have paper and pens on my desk," Castiel says casually, steering with just one hand now, the other one losening his tie. Forcing himself not to simply  _stare_ at the bits of revealed skin, now that the collar is loose, Dean responds, "That's great. Can I ask where your desk is?"  
  
It's so fucking hard not to let the cover slip and stop their playful talking and just  _take, take, take.  
  
_ Unfortunately, though, Castiel seems to take joy in Dean's suffering and goes as far as unbuttoning his shirt entirely, nipples visible through the thin fabric because of the cool blows coming from the air conditioner. "In my bedroom." He says it totally conversationally as if he hadn't noticed Dean's already straining pants.  
  
A hummed response is all Dean is willing to give, but Castiel doesn't approve.  
  
"I also have a bed in there, it's pretty nice. The mattress never squeaks, you know? Maybe that's why people like coming over to my place, but I wouldn't know. Usually, I don't let anyone see my bedroom."  
  
Dean's knuckles are white where he gripped the door handle and if he thought resisting Cas' wonderful, low voice has been hard, it's been nothing compared to now. Images of himself and Castiel under navy blue duvet covers flood his mind, take him on an unwelcome journey into the depths of his subconsciousness.  
  
"That sounds truly  _inviting,_ " Dean breathes, voice cracking just a tiny bit.  
  
Castiel's smug grin doesn't even slip the slightest and that irks Dean. "I'm sure you can do very artistic things in your room with all those nice papers and pens," he begins. There is a muscle twitching on Cas' jaw. "And with that mattress as well," Dean continues.  
  
The next time the man to his left exhales, it's not quite as steady as before, Dean notices with odd satisfaction.  
  
"My art tends to bring people to their  _knees,_ " Cas goes on after a second of silence and meets Dean's glare in the rear view mirror, laughter lines deepening around his eyes.  
  
"Oh, are your skills really that breathtaking?" Dean asks, avoiding the glance Cas shoots him skillfully.  
  
"Indeed they are. Some have to swallow a couple of times before they can praise my work." In that moment, Dean just dooms his brother for choosing snug fitting, tight pants, no matter how good they look on him. Somehow he still manages to keep talking, "Would you mind giving me a concrete example?"  
  
"Of course not," Castiel says in his stupidly gravelly voice, that would easily suffice to bring him to his knees, and turns his head to look directly at him. Tension functions like gravity, drawing Dean closer and closer to the warmth that is Cas and to his dumb, perfect lips.   
  
Castiel's eyes flutter shut and Dean inches slightly closer, their lips almost touching with not even an inch of space between them.  
  
He can feel Cas' breath on his lips and that's when Dean decides to turn his head to the other man's ear instead.  
  
"Eyes on the road."  
  
Cas' eyes snap open, glaring angrily at him, and their owner turns his head away, fixing his gaze on the street in front of them. "You will pay for that," he promises darkly, but the flush on his neck, exposed by the uneven collar, which is totally Castiel's own fault, ruins the effect those words might have had on Dean.  
  
Throughout the ride to Castiel's home, Dean can't keep himself from laughing about the look of reproach Cas acknowledges him with and the ill-humored grumbling from the seat next to him.  
  
Dean absolutely doesn't feel like laughing anymore when Cas fists a hand in his short hair and yanks his head back as soon as they're out of the car.   
  
"You will pay for it," Castiel repeats his words from before and stifles Dean's answer with a hard, demanding kiss.  
  
Before he can say knife, Dean finds himself pressed up against the side of Castiel's Mercedes, hands pinned down next to his legs, and Cas' mouth roaming over him. "Cas, hey, wait," he mumbles in a poor attempt of stopping the other man.  
  
"No," is the answer.  
  
Within seconds Castiel has tucked Dean's shirt out from the waistband of his pants and a hand on his bare back, using it to push Dean towards him until their hips slot together. Nails scrape along his spine and Dean can't decide whether to arc his back to be closer to Cas or to lean into the hand on his back.  
  
Dean savors each of Castiel's kisses, wants to capture every single one and lock them all up or frame them, just do anything to keep them alive in his mind.  
  
Right now, Cas does a pretty damn awesome job of keeping them alive for Dean, claiming his lips and rubbing his hands up and down Dean's sides until he has to pull back and catch his breath. But it's never for long. The next second he's always back, kissing him with new force and passion. "Cas," Dean gasps after a while, dropping his head back to rest it on the car.  
  
What he didn't preconceive is that by doing so, he'd bare his throat to Cas, who almost immediately jumps at it, tongue delving into the hollow between his collarbones.  
  
A shudder runs through Dean and he brings his hands up to Cas' shoulders, holding onto them, and presses Castiel just  _a bit_ closer. As far as that's still possible in their current position. "Stop, Cas, we're not- " Dean mumbles, clenching his hands around the fabric of his jacket as Castiel moves his mouth to Dean's neck, teeth grazing his skin, nose brushing against the sensitive spot right below his ear.  
  
"We're not what, Dean?"  
  
Gravel. Cas' voice is fucking gravel, or the sound of footsteps on snow, something so intoxicating at least, that Dean is wondering why he's not poisoned already.   
  
Dean actually needs a second to get his thoughts straight or he might do something completely stupid like trying to talk Cas into taking him here and now, in the car maybe. Car sex doesn't sound too bad, but he just really would prefer to get inside Cas' house.  
  
He doesn't expect his voice to soud as wrecked as it does when he speaks. "Please, Cas, let's just get inside."  
  
"Right," Cas whispers into his ear, "there was a certain  _concrete example_ I wanted to give you, though I'm not sure if you deserve it."  
  
There it is again, that barely audible undertone to his voice Dean got to know so well. Castiel always uses it, deliberately or not, when he wants to prove that he's the one in charge. Where others might think of it as needless, it's a major turn on for Dean and his tightening pants are evidence enough.  
  
Just forgetting about all the bullshit going on at home, simply letting Castiel take control and carry him to a better place, that's what this undertone means to Dean.  
  
"I do," Dean breathes and Cas seems to be convinced.  
  
That's been just a bit too easy and Dean immediately has to think about what Castiel could have in mind that makes his red-kissed lips turn upwards into a grin.  
  
Their hands stay entwined during the quick walk to Cas' front door, which is nothing compared to the marathon to Michael's, but as soon as Castiel shuts the door behind them, neither is able to hold back any longer.   
  
Dean can only focus on the man right in front of him; hands clawing at his shirt, hungry blue eyes, messy hair that damn near asks for being grabbed tightly, stubble, plump lips and - oh god - his fucking  _hands._ Using kisses and gentle nips on his neck as bribe, Cas manages to coax Dean, who just follows reluctantly, upstairs.   
  
Being in Castiel's bedroom now feels a whole lot different that it has last time - Dean is happy, it's like he finally  _belongs_ somewhere. The duvet covers, that are dark grey this time, swish quietly as Cas pushes him face-first onto the bed.  
  
In an instant he can tell this is where Cas sleeps, even with a blindfold he would have been able to recognize the scent he loves so much.  
  
Fresh spring air mixed with the pleasant smell of instant coffee.   
  
He can enjoy the scent even more as Castiel shrugs off his jacket and already unbuttoned shirt and Dean can't help noticing that even when Cas is in a hurry, every single one of his motions is elegant and lithe.  
  
"Missed you, Cas," Dean tells him as he turns on his back to let Cas crawl on top of him and his hands find their way into Dean's hair, making a tingle run over his scalp. "I missed you, too, Dean," Cas assures him, "I really did."   
  
Suddenly, Dean remembers that him and Cas were talking about -   
  
"Encomium," he gets out before Cas can move his hand any further up Dean's chest. Hell, he didn't even notice there was a whole hand up his shirt until now. Castiel is sneaky, he really is. Dean can feel Castiel hesitate, his fingertips brushing his nipple.  _Quiet. Quiet. Quiet._ A gasp escapes him when Cas pinches the small bud between his nails, firmly twisting it, before he pulls away and gets up.  
  
Apart from the thud as Castiel's feet touch the ground again, it stays quiet in the room. The mattress really doesn't squeak, but Dean only would completely confirm it after they'd put it to the test.  
  
He watches Castiel trudge over to his desk, his pants dangling ridiculously low on his hips, and Dean can't help the happy grin because he's pretty damn sure that Cas has no clue about how perfect his back looks. Muscles in his shoulders tense and stretch as Cas lifts his arms and reaches forwards to fetch a clipboard and a couple of various pens from the white table plate.  
  
 _He's not being serious right now, is he?  
  
_ Dean sighs unhappily, eyes flicking down to his uncomfortably tight pants, and absently undoes the last few buttons of his shirt. Apparently Cas had been a little too eager during their encounter before meeting Michael because there is a button missing that has been on the shirt when Dean had put it on after his quick shower.  
  
He lets his shirt drop on the carpet next to the bed and notices with delight that his vomiting from a few weeks ago hasn't left any visible evidence.  
  
As soon as Castiel is within reach, Dean closes his fingers around his wrist, tugging him forcefully forwards.  
  
It's nothing he usually would do, but if Castiel is actually willing to write an encomium (at least some weird kind of) he probably should give him something he  _really_ could thank him for. But Cas seems to be grateful enough to gently shove Dean away, not without kissing him in a way that has his lips burning and aching for more, though.  
  
"Cas," Dean complains, snapping his fingers at the man sitting on the edge of the bed.  
  
With an exasperated sigh Cas glances at him, his forehead creasing as if it wanted to say  _Christ, Dean, can't you see I'm busy with your damn encomium here?_  
  
Before Dean can say anything else, Castiel bluntly lifts the clipboard and starts scribbling tiny lines, which Dean isn't sure are even letters.   
  
Staring at his boyfriend unbelievingly, Dean props himself up on his elbow and rests his chin in his hand. "I can't believe it," he mutters disgruntedly. "Me neither," Cas hums. For several minutes the only sounds in the room are the scraping of pen on paper and their simultaneous, shallow breathing.   
  
At some point, Cas swings both his legs onto the bed and sits cross-legged on the mattress, shoulders drawn up and shielding his face and the clipboard from Dean's eyes. Eventually, Dean's curiosity gets the best of him and he moves over to Cas, reaching out to push his head just a bit to the side, but Castiel actually  _snarls_ at him and withdraws himself from Dean.  
  
"Dammit, Cas."  
  
He actually thought that the encomium would mean heavenly sex, but he obviously has been wrong - Castiel's idea of encomium involves paper and pens.  _But then why did he say all that shit about bringing people to their knees?_  
  
Dean manages to be mad with Cas for about 30 seconds because then he looks up at him, blue eyes sparkling, and smiles warmly and it looks like he's completely satisfied with himself and what he's doing at the moment and Dean just flashes a fond smile of his own.   
  
By the time Cas finishes his masterpiece or whatever it is, really, Dean has curled up on his side and buried his face deep in his boyfriend's pillow.  
  
"Dean? I would like to read my encomium to you now," Cas declares, clearing his throat as if he was about to prepare himself for one hell of a speech. "Thank you, Dean Winchester," he goes on solemnly.  
  
A grin makes Dean's lips curl and he drowsily opens one eye, nodding to encourage Cas.  
  
"That's it."  
  
His grin dies down and he stares blankly at Cas, who's untangling his legs from one another. "And you just wasted half an hour writing four words?" Dean asks in disbelief.  
  
At that, Castiel snorts and draws his eyebrows together. "Of course not!" Shaking his head as if he was bugged, he hands Dean the clipboard.  
  
It's a drawing. A fucking drawing.  
  
And it's the third most beautiful thing Dean has ever seen. Because first is Cas, obviously, and the second most beautiful thing is the pencil drawing Cas had given him on his birthday, which is already framed and hidden under his bed because John would go apeshit and probably tear it into tiny, tiny pieces.  
  
The drawing shows Castiel and him again, Cas wrapping his arms around Dean's waist and his own pen-drawn arms are snaked around Cas' neck.  
  
It's just a sketch and Dean can tell where Castiel has been lightly drawing the outlines of their bodies, but it still leaves him speechless because Cas had done this in less than an hour and he still had been able to make both of them perfectly recognizable. Their bodies are pressed together and between the tiny faces on the paper is less than a nail-width of space. "Thank you, Dean Winchester" is scribbled down underneath the drawing.  
  
"Wow," Dean breathes, beaming still, and isn't able to tear his eyes off pen-him and pen-Cas.  
  
Not even the warmth that settles on his cheeks as Castiel places his hands there is enough to make him look up, Dean is still somewhat thunderstruck. "Wow," he says again, gulping thickly.  
  
It's not until Dean has made sure that the clipboard is back on its previous place on the desk, that he gets back into bed with Cas.   
  
They kiss again, slow and passionate, Dean's hands between them as he leans forwards, Cas' hands on his own knees. Somehow Dean manages to keep his lips locked with Castiel's when he clumsily clambers into his lap and wraps his arms around his neck.  
  
Cas sighs happily as he settles in his lap and finally moves his hands from where they'd been resting to Dean's cheeks, cupping them like the fragile, unique work of art he is.  
  
 _Okay, just do it._  
  
Dean does it. He presses both hands against Castiel's chest, forcefully enough to draw a soft noise of surprise from the other man as he glances up at Dean, head now resting on one of the three pillows.   
  
"Dean?" he asks, a little confused.  
  
But Dean is already too focussed on making sure he pays enough attention to Castiel's body, that he can't bring himself to react as his boyfriend calls his name. Instead, he trails a line of gentle, tiny kisses down his chest and over his stomach, murmuring "Thank you" every time his lips meet soft skin.  
  
It's his turn to write an encomium now.  
  
Moving further down on the bed and leaving Castiel completely surprised, Dean kisses his way to Cas' fly button and does the little trick he once picked up while watching porn, during which he has to kind of twist his whole mouth to undo the button. As he takes the silver zipper between his teeth, his nose brushes against the clearly palpable bulge in Castiel's boxers.   
  
"Dean," Cas now urges as he doesn't move, a little more than satisfied with what he can do to Cas.  
  
With a small humming noise he tugs down Castiel's zipper, making sure his hum resonates through Cas' body and as he can feel a shudder running through him, Dean knows he's accomplished it. The next time he thinks he can hear his name being called, his head is swimming with Cas' scent and he can't get himself to care.  
  
Dean slides off the bed and spreads his knees for better balance.  
  
Castiel's stupid pants need to go right now. Hooking his fingers in the belt loops, he takes them off, mouthing at Cas' erection through the fabric.  
  
Probably kneeling on the floor isn't really healthy for his kneecaps that already are damaged enough for someone his age, but a few minutes of being on his knees can't cause that much trouble, right?  
  
What he didn't expect was a hand grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging lightly on it since he hasn't done anything yet. Inside his stomach, there is a tiny volcano, spilling wave after wave of hot lava into his veins and making him lightheaded. At some point he realizes he's just been staring bluntly at the wet spot where Cas' cock had been leaking onto the fabric of his boxershorts.  
  
"Dean," the man above him hisses as Dean quickly removes the dirtied boxers and his erection is at the mercy of Dean's mouth.  
  
And Dean is more than willing to give.  
  
He wants to make this good for Cas, wants to write an encomium with his tongue and teeth and nails, one that Castiel won't forget even if it's not permanently visible.  
  
Dean's toes curl in sheer pleasure as a gasp is punched out of Castiel's lungs when he flicks his tongue over the tip and runs it down the thick vein on the underside of his cock. Fingers tighten in his hair, tell him what Cas currently is incapable of.   
  
For now, Dean keeps his lips wrapped over the cockhead and uses saliva mixed with precome as lubricant to jerk Cas with the hand not resting on his thigh. As he lowers his head a few inches and quickly glances up at his boyfriend, Castiel screws his eyes shut and his fingers twitch in Dean's hair as if he was barely able to keep himself from forcing Dean's head all the way down and making him deepthroat his entire length.  
  
His gag reflex has always been a problem, but Dean manages to relax his throat muscles the bit that it needs for Cas' cock to hit the back of his throat.  
  
Immediately, he can feel tears well up at the corners of his eyes and his breath hitches in his throat, especially as Castiel starts bucking his hips and forces Dean to add suction again.   
  
The small noises Cas makes, soft little moans, and the gentle tugging on his hair, however, encourage Dean.  
  
He needs to pull off too soon for his own liking and Cas' cock bounces between his legs, swollen and so fucking  _hard_ Dean bets it's not even comfortable for Cas, but his own zipper is nearly killing him and as he finally pulls it down while crawling onto the bed again, Dean lets out a sigh of relief.  
  
Castiel kisses him, hard, and swallows Dean's words as if they were air and he was drowning.  
  
"Cas," Dean gasps, grinding his own still clothed erection against Cas' thigh, "please, fuck m-"  
  
A tongue in his mouth suffocates the rest of the sentence and wrestles with his own, invasive, yet welcome. Dean definitely welcomes it very much and enjoys the way Cas kisses him into oblivion.  
  
"Cas, please, fuck my mouth," he whispers gravelly, throat still tingling from the feeling of Cas all the way down there. A second later Dean is on his back with Cas' knees on either side of his head. The man above him grips the headboard of the bed for leverage and as he speaks, his voice comes out husky and wrecked.  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
Because Dean doesn't want to strain his throat more than necessary, he brings his hands up to the back of Castiel's thighs and urges him closer until he can feel precome moistening his lips. That's when Dean opens his mouth as an invitation and allows Cas to slide his cock in.  
  
The taste is truly dazing and Cas is just the right width, but as soon as it comes to suppressing his gag reflex, Dean can't keep focussing on the taste, but has to use all his willpower to suck at the back of his throat. When Cas picks up a rough rhythm that has Dean on the verge of choking, he lets his jaw fall slack to allow Cas better access.  
  
His own erection is struggling against the fabric of his boxers, painful and leaking a steady stream of precome on his underwear. Lucky enough, somehow his pants have slipped from his hips and are just knee-level now.  
  
Dean lets Castiel fuck his mouth until his hips stutter and he's sure it will only be a matter of seconds that his salty come will reward his aching throat.  
  
To his surprise, Cas pulls away and leaves his lips glistening with his own saliva and his throat raw and burning.   
  
"Cas?"  
  
Dean closes his eyes for a while, enjoying the way oxygen fills his lungs, and lets Cas take off his pants entirely, followed by his boxershorts. "I've got you, Dean," Castiel murmurs, hot, against the inside of his thigh and Dean believes it, trusts him enough to keep his eyes closed for just a little longer.  
  
A little longer means until slick, cool fingers nudge at the ring of tight muscles between his legs and Dean's body more than willingly opens up to the touch, craving to be filled and given what it wants. The first digit hurts more than usually and Dean shies away, hissing through gritted teeth.  
  
Castiel leans down, soothing him with small kisses over his chest and to his neck, where he starts nibbling and sucking, so Dean can focus on this while he works that finger further in. After a while, Dean finds himself rocking back against Cas' finger and making little noises in the back of his throat, which turn into moans the longer Cas pumps in and out of him.  
  
Somewhere deep inside him a small voice asks Dean how Cas hasn't come yet since Dean feels like he could explode just any second.  
  
Dean spreads his legs, drawing them up towards his torso, and Castiel adds a second finger, moving along with the first and soon starting to curl upwards. Pleasure makes sparks run down Dean's legs as Cas' fingertip jabs his prostate, the small bundle of nerves immediately responding.  
  
"Oh Christ," he hears himself gasp as Cas does it again, rubbing his fingers over it.  
  
Some days Dean wants to curse himself for having a prostate sensitive enough to make him come from stimulating it alone. Today is one of those days, mainly because he just can suck in breath after breath and hope that Cas soon will be done stretching him out.  
  
He doesn't have to constantly brush his fingers against the little bump on his wall, but he does it anyway and Dean doesn't complain, again, mainly because he's already having trouble breathing.  
  
Three fingers are enough to Cas' mind and when he withdraws them to lube himself up, Dean can feel his hole clench around nothing, aching for more, yearning for Castiel.  
  
"Please, please," Dean whispers feebly.  
  
One cold and one warm hand grip the back of his thighs and place his calves over Castiel's shoulders, exactly like they had the first time back in the cabin, which seems to have been ages ago.  
  
From this angle, Dean can't do anything, just stare up at Cas, and as his boyfriend's cock breaches his hole, he lets out the breath he'd been holding and drops his head back against the pillow. Castiel's scent ensheathes him, familiar and giving him a little safety, just like a seat belt on a rollercoaster ride.  
  
And, God, is this one hell of a rollercoaster ride.  
  
He isn't even given the time to adjust around the dick buried inside him as Cas sets up a shallow but rough rhythm of thrusts, each sending a jolt of pleasure up Dean's spine, mixed with a sting at his entrance.  
  
When Castiel angles his hips just right, Dean arcs his back off the bed and presses himself closer against him.   
  
Soon he's chanting Cas' name between breathless moans and gasps that sometimes die on their way out whenever Cas decides to kiss him and whisper his gratefulness into his mouth.  
  
Dean gets lost in the way his body nearly convulses every time Cas hits his prostate and takes everything in through a warm haze. While Cas' thrusts become more erratic, Dean entirely loses the ability to breathe and think straight, and the only thing filling his mind are two words.  
  
"Thank you," he pants, letting Castiel swallow the words and save them inside him.   
  
That is enough to tip Cas over the edge, a gentle push, nothing more, and his blue eyes widen, pupils dilating to a nearly impossible size, and Dean can feel Castiel's come fill his channel, hot and perfect. Just like the mouth on his only a split second later.  
  
Castiel keeps thrusting, hips snapping forwards, and Dean can feel warmth pooling in his stomach, making its way south and when Cas moves a hand to his chest and flicks his fingers against Dean's nipple, he finds his release.  
  
Long, hot spurts of white paint his chest and chin and his vision becomes blurry for a moment, Castiel just a faint silhouette above him, elegant and beautiful. "It's okay, Dean," a voice next to his ear tells him and all of a sudden it is. Everything is okay.  
  
When Dean comes down from his high, Castiel is there, warm hands on his sides and plump lips on his forehead and his insides still tingle from the orgasm.  
  
It's one of those days Dean wishes he had zero refractory time.  
  
Dean flinches at the sudden emptiness as Cas pulls out, leaving him gaping open and cold. At least that's what it feels like for Dean, who's still boneless and grinning stupidly. The grin turns into tight lips and flushed cheeks as he can feel Cas' come slowly trickle down between his legs and onto the bed sheet.   
  
Mumbling a lazy apology, Dean rolls onto his side while Cas gets up, groaning and stretching until his spine pops, to get a washcloth from the bathroom just next door.  
  
"Roll over," Cas demands, but Dean's limbs feel too heavy and Cas actually has to shove at the small of his back.  
  
"Caaas," he drawls, reaching over his shoulder to wrap his fingers around the other man's wrist.  
  
Slender fingers find their way in between his own and give his hand a firm squeeze. "I'm not leaving, Dean, it's alright," Cas says. The used washcloth gets discarded next to the bed, neither of them willing to take care of it in that exact moment.  
  
All both men really care about right now is getting into bed.  
  
Dean falls asleep in Castiel's arms, his back against his boyfriend's chest and strong arms around his waist. It's moments like this that make Dean wish he could pause life and watch him and Cas being happy forever.  
  
  
**********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
When Dean wakes up, it's still dark, the digital clock with LED display on Castiel's nightstand tells him it's 4:47 in the morning. He can't breathe, his pillow suffocates him and the arm around him squeezes all air out of his lungs, that desperately try to provide him with oxygen.  
  
He squirms until Cas' hand slides from his waist to his hip and finally lands on the mattress, so he can get up and take a shaking breath.  
  
As he looks back at the sleeping man in the bed that suddenly looks too big for one person, Dean realizes what it was that strangled him.  
  
 _Not good enough. Never good enough. John was right.  
  
_ Castiel moves in his sleep, face tensing uneasily, and makes unhappy noises as his arms curl to wrap around Dean just to find the space beneath him empty, a warm body missing. It hurts to see Cas reach out for him and it hurts even worse as he can hear him mumble "Dean".  
  
Eventually, Dean climbs back into bed with Cas and snuggles up against him. He's immediately rewarded with a happy sigh and a body pressing up behind him. It's utter bliss, even though a nagging little voice in the back of his head, that sounds suspiciously like his father, tells him that he doesn't deserve to be here, doesn't deserve to be happy, doesn't deserve to be with Cas.  
  
The LED display shows 5:17 as Dean finally manages to mute the voice, but not even then the heaviness that settled in his stomach vanishes.  
  
He turns his head slowly to look back at Cas, his closed eyes and slightly parted, pink lips that he loves to kiss so much. Dean doesn't go to sleep until an hour later, face buried deep in Castiel's pillow to keep the voices away and his back pressed as tightly against Cas' front as it will go.  
  
  
The next time Dean wakes up and lazily gets out of bed to search Cas, who he can hear humming and whistling downstairs, he still can feel Cas' gratitude from last night between his legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh you actually read it? Did you like it? Let me know cx
> 
> I wanted to thank you all for the nice, encouraging comments and the kudos and bookmarks ;^;  
> *Castiel voice* These make me very happy!
> 
> I might not be able to write the next chapter until in two weeks because I'm going on vacation, sooo yeah.


	16. Tattoos And Gummy Worms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to thank my beta Graciele. Without her the fic would have ended after this chapter and differently! o:
> 
> *
> 
> Sorry for the shit-ton of Domestic Fluff, but I really needed this, I hope it's okay for you! ;^;

When Castiel wakes up, Dean has rolled on top of him, a heavy weight that he would never complain about, not even if Dean was 10 pounds heavier.  
  
His mouth is close to his cheek, his breath shallow, warm puffs against his skin.  
  
With his eyes closed and his lips parted, Dean looks extremely vulnerable and innocent, and the fact that he's got one of his hands resting on Cas' chest, right above his heart, only increases the image. "Good morning, Dean," Castiel kisses into his hair, inhaling deeply.  
  
As Dean's leg twitches, he thinks he might have woken him up, but then he just gasps quietly and nuzzles his face into the crook of his neck. A single strand of light-brown hair tickles the skin below his ear and Castiel needs to press his lips together not to laugh. "I could watch you sleep all day and never get tired, you know?" he mumbles affectionately against Dean's temple, his lips a gentle swipe on the skin, nothing more than a second of showing how much he loves him.   
  
"You look so peaceful like this," Castiel tells him and splays his fingers on the small of the other man's back.  
  
Dean exhales and the weight on Castiel's chest increases. "I wish you could see yourself like this." For a while he allows himself to breathe Dean in, map his shoulder blades with the tips of his fingers and enjoy the little moment of silence.   
  
See Dean sleep has always been special because throughout the day the boy sleeping on top of him plays tough and unapproachable, like nothing could hurt him, but when he's asleep, Castiel can clearly see the tiny crease between his brows and the uneasy twitch of his lips.  
  
"Hey, Dean," Castiel whispers, "you're looking very beautiful today."  
  
Right on cue, Dean draws one leg up and halfway slides off him, the inside of his right thigh draped across his waist and his head still resting on his chest. "Still beautiful," Castiel decides and uses his elbow as makeshift pillow to study Dean's face.  
  
His sensual lips are a little puffy from sleep and even though they are more than tempting, Castiel doesn't take the bait but moves his eyes to Dean's nose.  
  
The alas of his nose distend ever so slightly with every intake of breath and when Castiel inches just a little too close and his bit of stubble scrapes against his neck, Dean scrunches up his nose in his sleep and huffs softly. "What are you doing to me, Dean Winchester?" Castiel sighs and shakes his head resignedly.  
  
Slowly, Castiel shifts to make Dean's leg glide onto the mattress.   
  
The second Dean's bare thigh makes contact with the empty space beside him, he stirs, kicking the blanket off in confusion and fisting his hand in Castiel's pillow.  
  
"Cas? Please, no, Cas," he mutters into the fabric and rolls over onto his back, legs getting tangled up in the sheets. It's a moment of complete, utter grace. "I'm not leaving," Castiel promises him and takes a seat on the floor next to the bed, stretching up to fetch the clipboard from his desk.  
  
Sometimes, Castiel wishes he'd have the time to sketch every change on Dean's features. Like the crinkles around his green eyes when he smiles, the gums he shows while laughing and tipping his head back, his pout and the way his lips quiver when he's mocking Dean. He wants to show Dean what he looks like when a single tear makes its way down his freckled cheek and wants to reflect the way his eyes narrow when he's angry. Maybe he'd even go as far as drawing Dean's beautiful face and the way it tenses in ecstasy when he makes him lose his mind.  
  
To make a long story short: Castiel wants to draw Dean like a living piece of art and capture him.  
  
Right here and now and on this paper sheet.  
  
Determined, he adjusts his fingers around his pencil and starts faintly sketching the outlines of Dean's neck, the curve of his jaw. Then small circles where the ears are supposed to be, followed by rounded down shoulders with another faint circle for the joints. Next comes the rolling line of where the blanket is covering Dean from his waist down, except for his toes that stick out just the tiniest bit.   
  
With every second passing, the drawing grows and soon Castiel finds himself staring at two sleeping Deans. One in color, one in grey, but both equally beautiful.   
  
Castiel rises, his legs feeling like they might collapse any second, and kisses Dean and all his colors. The green of his eyes disappears behind his lips and makes him feel like he's somewhere high above the ground and -  
  
No. He needs to stop and get the hell downstairs to make Dean breakfast. He needs to stop staring and wanting and most of all wanting to _touch_. Quickly, Cas turns on his heel and leaves the room before he does anything completely stupid and out of place like waking Dean up with one hell of a blowjob.  
  
The drawing is left on the bedside table and Castiel hopes Dean will see it before he goes to search for him once he gets up from his sleep.  
  
When Castiel enters the kitchen, he sighs at the mess he left on the white counter when he made himself a mixed salad with tomato, cucumber and sesame shortly before picking Dean up for dinner at Michael's place. Now, he has to clean up the leftovers and put the bowl in the dishwasher.  
  
Only then he can think about whipping up something nice for breakfast, something that would make Dean smile. To see Dean smile Cas would do pretty much everything. If Dean was here with him right now, maybe he'd tell him, but it's a big maybe.  
  
It's too quiet in the kitchen for it to be comfortable, so Castiel turns on the radio standing right next to the hot plate.  
  
 _ **I got a pocket, a pocketful of sunshine...  
  
**_ Castiel grins and stoops to withdraw a pan from the cabinet below the sink, then sashays a few steps to the left and fetches the bottle of sunflower oil from his top shelf. Zestfully fiddling with the modulators, he begins to hum quietly, so he can still hear the music.  
  
 _ **I got a love and I know that it's all mine, oh oh oh...  
**_  
While carefully pouring the right amount of oil into the pan and waiting for it to frizzle, Castiel twirls around and opens the cupboard above his head to choose two plates, that he places on either side of the hot plate.   
  
 _ **Do what you want, but you're never gonna break me, sticks and stones are never gonna shake me, oh oh** **oh...**  
  
_ Next, he cracks two eggs on the edge of the pan and watches the egg whites turn actually white. Knowing the tune by heart, Castiel whistles and hums while shoving the eggs around. The music fills the kitchen and replaces his thoughts about Dean with the scent of food and the simplicity of the song.  
  
The melody guides him through the process of eventually shoveling the eggs sunny-side up out of the pan and onto Dean's and his plates.  
  
 _ **The sun is on my side...  
  
**_ Castiel picks up both plates and sets them down on the counter in the middle of the kitchen.  
  
 ** _And takes me for a_ _ride..._  
  
** By now, he's singing along to the female voice, quietly because he's not really proud of his singing, but the song is so infectious.  
  
 _ **I smile up to the sky...**_

Someone turns off the volume of the radio and he can't stop himself in time, so the other half of the sentence is left for him to finish without backing group. "I know I'll be alright," he chants, voice dying down as soon as he notices the lack of music.   
  
"Good morning," Dean says casually and Cas can hear the smile in his voice even before he turns around to find him leaning against the counter next to the oven. He's wearing nothing but boxershorts and the image makes Cas' heart clench with how right this is.  
  
Dean belongs here, in his kitchen, his house, his life.  
  
Maybe that's why his voice shakes as he says, "Good morning, Dean."  
  
"I found the drawing," Dean tells him and steps a little closer, lifts his hand and lets it hover above Castiel's cheek, not quite touching, yet so close. "Oh," he makes brightly. Dean is grinning like a Cheshire cat as he spots their breakfast waiting for him on the counter. "Did you make that?"  
  
"No, it was the pixie living under my bed," Cas deadpans and tries really hard not to give away a smile, which, to be honest, is very difficult. Especially when Dean simply says, "Well, I hope the pixie doesn't hate us for last night." He can't help himself, the chuckle comes out anyway and soon both Dean and him are more or less actually giggling.  
  
One second Dean is yawning and rubbing the heel of his hand against his eye, the next Cas can feel where his mouth is pressed against his own bare shoulder.  
  
"Nice singing, by the way."  
  
Making a noise of disapproval, Castiel shoves Dean lightly. "What?" Dean, who doesn't seem to like the idea of withdrawing himself from Cas, complains. "Our food."  
  
"Mmh soon," the other man whines and rests against Castiel entirely, arms slung around his waist and face buried in his neck. "Dean," Castiel pouts, but doesn't do anything about the warmth against his front. But then this warmth starts moving, moving down and a second later Dean is smirking up at him.  
  
Castiel barely has the time so say, "Fuck, Dean, this is unhygienic!" before Dean turns his knees into jelly and he has to white-knuckle the edge of the counter with their food behind him. Somehow he manages to defer Castiel's orgasm until he outright is thrusting his hips into Dean's mouth.  
  
A second before Castiel finds his release, the man to his feet pulls away and he can see, even through his blurring vision from the ferocity of his orgasm, that hot spurts of white hit Dean's cheek and lips and a few drops actually get caught in his eyelashes.  
  
Trembling, he hauls Dean up into his arms and their lips collide in a burning kiss that only is broken so Castiel can lick Dean's cheek clean. Sinful sounds replace the air in the room and Cas skillfully jerks Dean, twisting his wrist in the way he's sure Dean loves, which is just confirmed when his boyfriend comes in his boxers a few minutes later.  
  
"Thanks for making breakfast, Cas," Dean gasps exhaustedly. A lazy grin makes Cas' lips curl and without another word, he interlocks his fingers with Dean's, food forgotten. The living area is the only room he hasn't shown Dean so far, but right now seems to be a good opportunity, so he leads him out of the kitchen, through the entrance hall and into the adjacent room. A long row of bookshelves is lined up on the wall in front of him.  
  
"Oh, sweet baby Jesus," he can hear Dean whisper.  
  
Untangling his fingers from Castiel's, he steps forward hesitantly as though trying to take in all the details about the room, like the small nook with a candlestick standing in it, like the fireplace on the right wall of the room with a huge couch in front of it. The sound of Dean's bare feet is swallowed entirely by the Persian carpet in the middle of everything, beautiful, oriental embroideries in dark-blue on white.  
  
"India?" Dean takes a guess.  
  
"Mhm, it's a very stunning land, we should- I could show you photographs if you're interested."  
  
A cold wave of shock runs down his spine as Castiel realizes what he almost said, he just hopes Dean hasn't noticed, but if Dean's sudden lack of breathing is anything to give by, he has. Honestly, Castiel doesn't know whether this is a good or bad thing.  
  
"Sure, uh, show me pictures," Dean stammers then, moving around rather gawkily. "How about you go get changed," he suggests with a pointed look at where Dean's boxershorts are damp and glued to his skin, "and I look for the photo album."  
  
Muttering something that might have been an insult, Dean leaves. Somewhere between his books about Art and Photography has to be the album, but where exactly? As he finally finds it hidden behind a stack of old drawings that actually make him cringe, Castiel can't help but smile.  
  
On his way over to the couch, a grief that hasn't haunted him ever since he's talked to Dean about losing Anna settles in his gut, weighing him down, and he's quite grateful that he can just let himself fall onto the soft cushion of the sofa. He's unable to tear his eyes off the picture glued to the front of the photo album.  
  
It shows Anna and him standing in front of the Hawa Mahal. His sister is wearing these ridiculously big sunglasses that cover not only her eyes, but damn near her whole face. Castiel remembers making fun of her for buying them, he just wishes he could take it back. The Castiel in the picture is squinting at the sun, face screwed up, and he's pretty sure it's one of the worst pictures to ever be taken of him, but Anna has been 14 by the time she'd given him the album, so he's not complaining - not really.  
  
Dusty pages, fading photographs.  
  
That's all that is left of his sister as it seems. If only he'd jumped first that day, maybe then everything would be okay. Or reversed and Anna would show her boyfriend pictures of him. Probably she would miss him.  
  
Then Dean is back, slumping down on the couch, and writhes until Cas is on his back and he can cozily lay his head on his chest while looking at the photo album in his hand. It's good to have Dean here, simply laying on the couch with him and giving him a little safety.  
  
"Anna?" he can feel Dean mumble against his chest, one hand sliding up to rest right underneath his ribcage.  
  
"Mhm," Castiel confirms and shakes the album until it falls open, the other arm wrapped around Dean and gently making patterns of circles and lines down his side.  
  
He skips the first two pages out of a reason.  
  
On those pages are pictures of Anna swimming and if there's one thing he doesn't want to happen is himself crying. Not now and not in front of Dean.  
  
"Hey, Cas," Dean says softly and tilts his head back to look up at him.  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
Deans shifts until he's completely covering the side of Castiel's body. "You don't have to do that, you know." Thumbing through the next few pages, Castiel nods. "Whoa, what's that?" Dean wants to know and jerks his head slightly as Castiel turns a page.   
  
"Uhm," he drawls, a little awkwardly, "that's me."  
  
In a quick motion, Dean sits up and grabs the album, swinging his legs off the edge of the sofa and bending over to get a better look at the picture. "That's you?" Castiel squints at him, lifting his shoulders. "Yes?" he says hesitantly. "Dude," Dean sighs.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Look at that stomach," he mumbles, eyes wide. A moment later Cas manages to snatch the album back from Dean's hands, not that the other man would have given any kind of resistance. Dean shoves Cas until he's almost falling off the couch and he can tangle their legs together. With his free hand Castiel lifts Dean's head to make it rest on his chest again and Dean doesn't seem unhappy about it. They flip through the dusty pages together, untouched for years in which Castiel had tried to deal with his little sister's death, and Castiel tells Dean stories. Sometimes they're funny.  
  
"So, I believed I was extremely educated and thought 'Why not give it a try?' and I went to this merchant and said 'I would like to buy three apples.' Well, that's what I thought I said. Turned out I was telling him that I liked his feet. You probably can guess what happened. He almost got out from behind his booth and punched me. I've never seen someone's face that red."  
  
And Dean is shaking from laughter, each convulsion that Cas can feel makes telling the story worth it.  
  
Sometimes the stories are casual.  
  
"Oh, look. That's the booth I bought my carpet at. Anna said I was behaving like a rich asshat, but I just really wanted that carpet, can't blame me, can you?"  
  
The head on his chest moves in agreement.  
  
And one story is sad.  
  
"Do you see this?" Castiel asks. "The boat over there with the fishermen on it?" Dean nods slowly. "The one with the safety jacket, he kind of died. I don't know why, but when I went through my pictures later the evening of that day, I accidentally had taken a few of how he's going overboard and...there were rocks and I couldn't...you know. I couldn't go back in time and...undo it. I just had to delete the pictures."  
  
Dean is left speechless, he just tightens his arms around him and presses a kiss to his collarbone, light and sweet. It feels so domestic that Castiel almost forgets that they're not living together, but he doesn't say it. Because by doing so he'd cross a line and he doesn't want that.  
  
"You know, Cas," Dean says after a while, "I like it here."  
  
"Thank you?" Castiel's forehead creases.  _Does that mean he likes the furniture? I don't understand._ "That...I meant, uhm, I like being here because I'm here with you, I just, son of a bitch, you know what I mean, Cas!"  
  
Grinning, Cas traces Dean's spine with his fingertips and says, "I wasn't quite certain if you were talking about my furniture or actually about being with me." His words elicit an amused snort from Dean and then he can feel him move around, couch dipping a second before he gets up to stretch his arms over his head, shoulder blades gnashing a little.  
  
"Be right back," he announces and leaves Cas cold on the sofa.  
  
All he can do for now is watch Dean's back that gives way to slim hips disappear out of the room, then he can hear the soft sound of bare feet on marble plates. Lucky enough, Dean returns after a minute with their plates in his hands, a smile tracing the corners of his mouth. "Figured you might wanna eat," he simply says and sits back down, like he belonged there, like he'd never sat anywhere else.  
  
Warmth rushes through Cas' veins and makes him smile widely. As he attempts to sit up to take his plate from him, though, Dean pushes his chest with just the tips of his fingers, forcing him to lay back. "Dean, what are you-"   
  
"No speaking," Dean snaps and grins smugly while making himself comfortable on Cas' lap. A chill runs down Castiel's spine as Dean sets one plate down on his bare stomach, readjusting it a few times before he's happy with the way it's positioned. "Dean," Castiel complains and rolls his eyes slightly, but Dean just smiles a little wider and tells him no.   
  
"Just lay back for once, Cas, you need to relax."  
  
Frowning, Castiel drops his head onto the pillow behind him and stares at Dean, who's still busy with the plates. He doesn't find it very easy to relax when Dean keeps shifting on top of him and shoving the plates around on his stomach, grinning like stupid the whole time.  
  
"Dean," he says once more.  
  
"Shut up, Cas," the other man scolds him, not even looking up, and rests a palm on his forehead, pushing until Cas finds himself staring up at the ceiling.  
  
Dean never takes the initiative, maybe that's why Cas doesn't mind being told what to do this time. He's  _trying_ to relax, that's not it, but there's something digging into his back. "Jesus, Cas, stop moving," Dean whines and can stop the plate on his ribs from falling down just in time.  
  
"There's something digging into my back, Dean," he tells him truthfully and arcs his back in frustration. A second later, there's something else under his back, something that he soon recognizes as Dean's hand. "It's your stupid phone, that's why you don't wear sweatpants like yours. Stupid huge pockets," Dean bitches and puts Cas' phone in his own pocket.  
  
With a loud sigh, Dean sits back and starts tearing the first egg sunny-side up into small pieces and when he's done, he lifts one to Cas' lips. "Open your mouth," he demands and nudges his lips with the cooled down food. "Come on, Cas, don't ruin this for me," he nags and uses his other hand to tug on Castiel's jaw when he doesn't do as he's told.  
  
Confused, Cas opens his mouth and lets Dean feed him the piece of egg.  
  
"Thank you," Cas mumbles around the bite, hands uselessly twitching at his sides because he doesn't know what to do with them since Dean obviously plans on feeding him. This is not what he's used to, but he wouldn't mind _getting_ used to it.  
  
Dean laughs as he brings the next piece up to Cas' mouth and drops it in. "I don't do shit like this, Cas."  
  
"Domestic life is not my thing," Castiel agrees and chews longer than needed on his bite of egg, which, by the way, tastes great.   
  
Suddenly, Dean's face twists in what looks like concern. "I don't know what you've done to me, Cas, I really don't, but...don't stop doing it."  
  
Not even Castiel, who's used to have a fitting response to almost everything, has a single damn clue what to say.  
  
But apparently Dean didn't expect him to, he simply goes back to feeding him, occasionally taking bites of his own egg sunny-side up and humming in approval. After finishing breakfast, Dean takes the plates off Cas' stomach and puts them down beside the couch, so he can rest his head on his chest again.  
  
"Hey, Cas, you know what?"   
  
Tingles make their way down Castiel's arms and he's not quite certain whether Dean can feel the goosebumps or not.   
  
"No, Dean, what?"  
  
"I really, uh," he hesitates, "nevermind." That's one of the things Castiel outright hates; starting a sentence and not finishing it. "Dean."  
  
"I really love y-...your drawings," Dean stammers and hides his face in Cas' chest as if he was ashamed of something, but Cas understands.  
  
"I love you, too, Dean."  
  
"Need you, Cas."  
  
"Yes, I know, I love you, too," Castiel chuckles, tangling his fingers in Dean's short, soft hair, which is still messed up from sleep and their little encounter in the kitchen.   
  
"Hey, Cas?" Dean addresses him again.  
  
"Yes, Dean?"  
  
"Have I done anything wrong lately?" he wants to know, voice muffled by Castiel's chest. "No, of course not, why would you think that?" Cas asks back, but Dean is tensing palpably in his arms and he's close to taking the question back when Dean finally answers.  
  
"Nothing, it's nothing, really. Sorry."  
  
"You don't have to apologize, Dean," he assures him.  
  
"Right, sorry."  
  
"Dean."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Castiel gives a light tug at where his hand is fisted in Dean's hair and as the other man glances up quickly, he angles his head downwards to kiss him. It's not needy or anything, it's to calm Dean down, and when Cas can feel his muscles unclench and Dean is sighing happily and melting into his side, he knows he managed to make it better, whatever it was.  
  
"Hey, Dean?" he murmurs as he pulls back.   
  
Dean's lips follow his for a split second, a little red and so kissable, it's very distracting. "Yeah?"  
  
"How about watching a crappy TV show?" he suggests then, reaching behind himself to fetch a remote from the table beside the couch.  
  
"But, uhm, you don't have a TV, Cas," Dean says and cocks an eyebrow.  
  
With a grin, Castiel turns his head and presses a fat, green button on the piece of plastic in his hand and a hidden ceiling flap opens. Dean glares suspiciously at him while a TV screen installed to hinges swings out slowly, screen perfectly black and shiny, not the tiniest dust particle on its surface.  
  
"Uh," Dean goggles.  
  
"Having been a spoiled kid has its advantages," Castiel explains, pressing a few buttons, and the screen shows a close-up shot from a man's face. Under other conditions Cas probably would've thought he's attractive, but the green of his eyes is too pale and a few shades too dark. It's nothing like Dean's and his lips aren't soft enough, they look rather rough and just no.  
  
Huffing, Castiel switches to the next program and beside him Dean gasps audibly.  
  
"Give me the remote, Cas," he exclaims and scrambles to lean forward and steal it from Castiel, who'd just opened his mouth to tell him off. "Oh yes, oh yes, that's great," he cheers and squeezes Cas tightly.   
  
 _ **Another episode of Doctor Sexy M.D. is presented to you** **by-**  
  
_ Castiel pushes the upwards-button and the scene changes again. This time it's two men with extremely short hair and dressed like prison inmates. "Michael? What are you doing in here?" the taller one is currently asking. Dean makes an unhappy noise, but doesn't say anything about it.   
  
A few seconds in the show, the shorter one, who's apparently named Michael, undoes his shirt and reveals a completely inked chest and back, white covered by dark colors.  
  
"Do you like tattoos?" Dean asks him, snuggling a little closer.  
  
"Mmh, I would like them on you," Cas admits and takes way too much joy in the way Dean grumbles something and presses his face into his shoulder. In the following commercial break, they find out that the TV show is called  _Prison Break_ and Dean doesn't stop ranting about the fact that none of the actors is as good as the guy playing Doctor Sexy and how the only good show on TV is  _Doctor Sexy M.D._ and that he loves the doctor's cowboy boots and stupid hair.  
  
So Castiel tells him that if he keeps talking about his doctor, he'll gag him without any further do. And that actually shuts Dean up, though his eyes twinkle at the mention of gags.  
  
"Kinky," Dean mutters and wriggles his toes between Cas' legs, which gets him a funny look, but nothing more than that. Slowly, Castiel moves his hands down to Dean's waist and settles them in a way that has his thumbs brushing against the other man's hipbones.  
  
"When do you have to be home?" Cas asks, rubbing soft circles into Dean's skin and kissing his forehead.   
  
A happy noise falls from Dean's lips and his eyelids flutter shut, mouth curling into a small smile as he replies. "Doesn't matter, Cas."  
  
"Really?" he asks, just to make sure. Maybe Dean could stay for another night because that would be so great, it would make up for the days then didn't get to see each other.   
  
"Mhm," Dean mumbles, words slurry, "you could convince me."  
  
Cas isn't sure whether the words are meant to be suggestive or not since Dean is keeping his eyes shut. Eventually, he decides that the best way to convince Dean to stay, though he's sure he wouldn't even have to actually ask him to, is by doing all the little things he knows he likes.  
  
That includes giving tiny scratches on the back of Dean's neck right below his hairline while Dean drowsily tucks his head under Castiel's chin.  
  
He can feel Dean relax with every second passing and by the time he starts massaging the space between his bare shoulder blades, Dean is boneless and literally just a bundle of happiness next to him.   
  
Cas brushes his lips against Dean's head, mumbling quietly, "Stay?"  
  
A groaned "yes" is all he gets before Dean drapes his arm across his waist and seems to be asleep. When Cas moves to glance down at him, though, he starts ranting that he wants the warmth of Cas' chest back and who the hell is Castiel to take that from him and if he wants to torture him and Cas laughs loudly, holding Dean a little tighter and kissing the top of his head.  
  
Reluctantly, Cas pulls even further back, so he can speak without accidentally eating Dean's hair. "So I can count you in for a day on the couch? Shirtless and eating unhealthy things?" Saying these words makes him feel like a teenager, over the top excited and happy that someone might actually want to spend time with him.  
  
"You had me at shirtless," Dean mumbles from where he has buried his face in the cushion.  
  
Cas hates getting up from the sofa and immediately craves Dean's striking distance, the slow strokes of his fingertips on his side and the way he can feel him smile against his chest. It sounds ridiculous, really, but Cas already hates Dean for having to leave the next day.  
  
When he returns to the couch with various bowls of unhealthy and even unhealthier food, balancing a couple of beer bottles somehow between them, Dean is laying sprawled out across the red cushions, one leg dangling off the edge, and snoring ever so quietly. Cas' body doesn't do as his head is telling it, his legs just take step after step, like Dean was the puppet player and he the compliant marionette.  
  
And Dean keeps drawing him closer on invisible threads until he's right beside him again.  
  
He shakes his head and puts the bowls down on the table next to the sofa and places one of the cooled bottles on Dean's naked back.  
  
In an instant, the other man's eyes snap open and a surprised little gasp slips out from his puffy lips.  _Why are they swollen? He clearly must have been chewing on them and...that's not really good.  
  
_ "Dean, is everything alright?"  
  
"Uh huh," Dean makes and taps his fingers against the cold glass of the bottle in his hands as he slowly sits up and leans against the backrest.  
  
"Look at me."  
  
He doesn't move the slightest.  
  
"Dean."  
  
No reaction.  
  
"Dean, look at me," he growls and firmly grasps his chin in one hand, holding it in place as Dean tries to avoid his intense glare.   
  
"Cas, stop it and just c'mere."  
  
"What's wrong?" he digs deeper and sits down beside his boyfriend, caressing his cheeks. "I just," Dean takes a deep breath, "I just love you, Cas."  
  
Relief fills Castiel's lungs and he can breathe properly again. "But that's a good thing," he smiles. "Yes, I - Cas, I'm scared. I don't - I never - What if something happens and we..." Dean stutters and worries his bottom lip between his teeth again.   
  
"What could happen?" he asks tentatively, suddenly not that relieved anymore.  
  
"Nothing, I'm just stupid and - hey are those gummy worms?"   
  
Dean rises onto his knees and leans across his lap to grab the bowl filled with all sorts of gums from the small table. "Oh, man, I love these," he tells him around nearly 53 gummy bears that he eagerly stuffs into his mouth. "Well, I'm glad you like them," Castiel says cautiously, not quite trusting Dean's sudden cheerfulness.  
  
After a while, Dean cracks the bottle of beer and takes a few sips before turning back to the TV screen, nuzzling Castiel's neck and making the bad thoughts vanish.  
  
On occasion Cas should tell Dean to stop doing things like that to him. Things that only exist in cheesy stories.  
  
Eventually, they turn off the TV and Dean insists on squeezing his feet between Cas' legs because otherwise they're cold and Cas tells him to simply go upstairs and help himself to a pair of socks, but Dean reminds him that he'd promised him a day on the couch and he gives in to the feet pushing at his knees. "I hate you," Castiel complains as Dean moves his cold feet up and down, trying to generate enough friction for him to feel warm. "Mhm," Dean hums and pops another gummy worm into his mouth, chewing annoyingly loudly into his ear.  
  
"Dean," Cas calls and pulls back in slight disgust, "you're acting like a child."  
  
"Are you challenging me?" Dean asks lazily, but his heart is not in it. Cas strongly suspects it to be in the worm he currently is holding between his teeth, one half inside his mouth the other one sticking out and being wriggled around.   
  
Grinning, Castiel closes the bit of distance between their lips, sealing them together, and sneakily bites off the outstanding half of the gummy animal. There's a blush on Dean's cheeks as he pulls back and Castiel finds himself wondering what Dean might be thinking.  
  
The blush even extends down his neck and Castiel taps Dean's chin with two fingers, making him lock eyes in a moment of silence.   
  
This silence is nice and filled with a weird kind of tension, like it'd only be a brief moment before either him or Dean would explode and start something less cuddly. But then Dean yawns and flops onto his back, curling up against his chest, and the tension is gone - just like that.  
  
"I'm so tired today," he can hear Dean mumble as he yawns once more.  
  
"Mmhm," Cas kisses into his shoulder and allows himself to close his own eyes as well. For a moment, just like ten seconds, not more.  
  
When Castiel opens his eyes again, it's dark outside and Dean is sleeping beside him, on his side with one hand resting on Cas' stomach and his head on his chest, while he himself is laying on his back and has one arm around Dean, just like he had when they were cuddling before. He feels the strong urge to get up and go to the bathroom, but he really doesn't want to wake Dean.  
  
Out of an instinct, Cas lets his eyes wander through the room and the emptied bottles around the couch draw his attention to the ground. He looks down at Dean and, yes, there's a blush on his cheeks. The kind of blush you get when you've had a little too much and are slightly tipsy.  _He's probably not gonna wake up just because of me moving.  
  
_ So Cas quickly goes to relieve himself.  
  
As he returns, though, Dean is awake, sleepily rubbing his eyes and making contented noises.  
  
"Cas, hey," he greets and Cas kisses him in response.  
  
A few minutes later, both men are asleep again, legs tangled together, and Castiel has his arms wrapped around Dean's middle, pressing his chest against the other man's back.  
  
As predicted, Cas is extremely sad when Dean has to leave the next morning, but it makes sense, right? It's Sunday after all.  
  
But Dean kisses him goodbye and it's so sincere that it makes it a little better.  
  
  
***********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
Dean's heart is pounding too loudly in his chest for it to be anywhere near healthy, but as he unlocks his phone to check the time, he finds himself staring at what looks like all the messages and calls he's received in his entire life.  
  
Many messages never mean good things.  
  
And the worst part of it is that they're all from Sam.  **82 missed calls, 40 unread messages.** Before he can think about doing anything else, he's hitting speed dial and lifts the phone to his ear. Dean outright hates himself for leaving his phone in Cas' bedroom after dinner at Michael's since they'd spent the next day on the couch entirely.  
  
Out of an unfortunate coincidence he as well as Cas had forgotten that Dean didn't drive to Castiel's place, so Dean has to walk home. Not that he minds going on foot, his heart race is just nearly killing him right now and he wishes it was just because of the fear Castiel might realize that he could do better.  
  
No, currently it's a shit-ton of unanswered messages that his 14-year-old little brother, who damn near  _never_ calls him, left on his voicemail in one day.  
  
And on top of all, Sam is not even picking up his fucking phone. His own phone just keeps vibrating against Dean's ear, excruciatingly telling him that there's something wrong because Sam, the little nerd, always has his phone in reach. Even when he's taking a shower.  
  
So Dean starts running.  
  
Drawings in one hand, phone in the other, he crosses a broad street without looking left and right. All he can hear is the tooting of his phone, the beat of his heart and then the creaking of tires very close to his left. Dean barely has the time to dodge the engine hood that was about to turn him into a bleeding pile of bones and guts on the street. "Son of a bitch," he yells and sprints as quickly as his lungs allow.  
  
"Dean?" his brother's voice sounds then.  
  
"Sammy! Oh, Jesus, Sammy! Are you okay? What happened? Where are you? Are you hurt? Injured? Is Jess okay? Do I need to murder someone?" Dean starts babbling, still running down the street and turning left at the next corner.  
  
"Dean, please come home, please," Sam mumbles feebly, his voice is hushed.  
  
"Sammy!"  
  
He stops running, leaning against the brick-wall of the closest house, and takes a deep breath. "What happened?" There is a rattling noise in the background and then Sam is shouting something incoherent.  
  
"Can't talk right now, just come home, you won't believe it."  
  
Before Dean can say a single damn word, it clicks and the line's gone dead, his little brother simply hung up on him.  _He better has a fucking good explanation or I'm going to kill him for worrying me like this. Stupid little bitch.  
  
_ Grumbling and swearing under his breath, Dean makes his way home, which is within a stone's throw of where he's currently standing.  
  
The second he pushes the front door open, Sam's fingers curl around his wrist and urge him inside. His brother pulls him into the corner behind the oven and whispers hastily, "Minnesota, came back, just, Dean, I can't!"  
  
Sam's words make Dean feel all dizzy and he's about to ask what the fuck is going on, when his little brother raises his voice again. "You should put those away, give them to me, Dean," he demands, glaring at the sketches in Dean's right hand. "No," Dean says peremptorily.  
  
"I didn't ask you to, Dean, just," Sam casts about for something quickly, as if he was hounded, "believe me, give me the drawings!"  
  
Cautiously, Dean loosens his fingers around the papers in his hand and allows Sam to take them. "One crinkle and I will make sure you can pick your hair up from the ground.  _One_ crinkle, Sammy." But his brother just nods and licks across his lips quickly. "Dean, you, uh, what I wanted to tell you-"  
  
"Dean."  
  
That's his father's voice, but how is this possible? John has been away for such a long time and now he's here? That's just impossible. Sam takes the opportunity and gets the hell out.  
  
But when Dean turns around, shoulders drawn up and eyes almost shut, the man standing in front of him is not John. At least not the John he knows.  
  
This John is clean-shaven, his hair neatly combed and he's actually dressed up properly. His brown eyes shimmer and give away the vitality Dean once was jealous of. The breath hitches in Dean's throat as he takes in the image of his father. This is what he'd wanted in the past five years, what he  _needed._  
  
"John?" he croaks, voice faltering.  
  
"Hello, son," his father says and there is a hesitant but genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth that makes him look younger.  
  
What seemed to be a sick delirium or at least some kind of mirage is in fact reality.  
  
John Winchester is sober.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Jesus, oooh Jesus, I really would love to hear what your assumptions are. Why is John sober? What has happened while he was away?
> 
> *
> 
> Did you like it? Let me knooow c:


	17. Breaking Points

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because we all have one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the update took so long, but I had some trouble writing this chapter. Plus it's 14k> so I hope that makes up for it.  
> (Pshh, this is unbeta-ed, all typos are mine)

Dean can't move, his blood freezes.  
  
Hot red turning into something so cruelly cold, he has to dig his nails into his palms not to start shaking. A fat lump, fatter than the rock making his stomach droop, makes breathing unbearably hard.   
  
"John," he mumbles.  
  
Saying this name hurts, it's abraiding on the inside of his throat, opening old wounds.  
  
"Dean," his father says, lifting one hand insecurely as if he wanted to place it on Dean's shoulder, but wasn't sure whether he was allowed to do that, "I'm sorry. I am so sorry for what I've done to you. And for the things I've said. I don't remember everything clearly, but there are a few lines I know I said and...I'm sorry."  
  
He can't breathe, the lump has swollen to an incredible size. It presses up against his palate, hard enough to cut off his air supply for several seconds, in which he opens and closes his mouth repeatedly.   
  
"And I know," John continues, boring holes into Dean's head with his eyes.  
  
"I know that apologizing isn't going to make everything okay," he underlines his words with a hack of his arm that has Dean instinctively flinching back, "but I hope it will be enough for a start."  
  
He wants to say something, anything, to let John know that he heard him, but nothing comes out. Dean can feel his hands clench into angry, tight fists at his sides, twitching with the urge to be slammed against something. Preferably a wall. Or John's face. He's not quite certain what would satisfy him more.  
  
It's just pure luck that Sam has taken the drawings from him previously because otherwise they'd be destroyed by now and that's the one thing Dean doesn't want to happen.  
  
"Dean, I'm sorry for not being the father you deserve."  
  
 _Too much. Too soon.  
  
_ The only thing Dean leaves behind as he twirls around, nearly crashing into the counter with a new set of plates on it ( _Really, John?_ ), is a choked out, garbled noise that could be defined as a sob if you listened closely enough. Then he's out of the kitchen and on his way upstairs, the photographs hung up on the wall passing by in a blur, expect for one that's standing out from the others.  
  
Dean loses it as he sees what's in the picture.  
  
It shows John and him as a toddler with a football in his small hands, proudly grinning up at John, who's holding his hand out to highfive him.  
  
But tearing it off the wall and tossing it down the stairs, where its picture frame breaks into small pieces, isn't nearly as satisfactory as Dean thought it would be. From where he's standing, he can hear John say something, but he doesn't want to know what he's telling him, so he stumbles into his room, slams the door shut and turns the key in the lock.  
  
His hands are shaking, his eyes burning.  
  
"Who gives him the fucking right? Who does he think he is? That  _asshole,_ " Dean mutters under his breath, fisting his hands in his hair and shaking his head.   
  
That's just great. After weeks of being gone, leaving him and Sam with the shitty amount of money Dean had managed to earn at Ellen's bar, John simply returns and wants to  _start over?_ After all he's done? Hurt Dean? Hurt Sammy? Physically as well as mentally and that pretty bad actually.   
  
"Dean," a small voice behind him speaks, dripping with anxiety and fear.  
  
"Sammy." He turns around to look at Sam, about to scold him for just entering his room without permission, but then he sees his face.  
  
Sam mumbles Dean's name once more before he takes a quick step forward, wraps his arms around him and buries his big head in his chest. "Where have you been, Dean?" he whispers accusingly, hands finding their way up to Dean's shoulder blades.  
  
"With - with Cas," he admits.  
  
That draws a huffed laugh from his little brother, who's still hugging him tighter than he has in the past three years. "He always has to fuck things up, doesn't he, Dean?"  
  
"I know, Sammy," Dean mumbles, now wrapping an arm of his own around his brother, "but we're gonna deal with it. We always do, right?"  
  
"Yeah, right," Sam agrees, pulling back and wiping his hand across his eyes, but his voice sounds shaky as if he doesn't really believe in what he just said. "I put the drawings on your desk," he adds, slowly pushing Dean away and combing his fingers through his hair.  
  
On a better day, Dean would probably tell him that he should stop doing that or people seriously would mistake him for a girl. "Thanks, Sammy."  
  
"They're really good, you know," Sam continues tentatively.  
  
A fond smile tickles Dean's lip and he gives in willingly, "Yeah, they really are. It kind of makes sense, though, Cas teaches Art History." His brother snorts a laugh and adjusts his plaid shirt until it covers the bit of skin right above the waistband of his jeans.  
  
"Shit, Sammy," Dean mumbles, staring blankly at him, "I'm sorry. I didn't buy you new clothes." Guilt mixes up with anger in his stomach and Dean could honestly punch himself in the face for forgetting about Sam and how he just keeps freaking growing. He already got used to buying Sam's clothes a size up, but still, the kid just gets taller and taller with every goddamn second. It's like you could actually physically  _see_ him grow.  
  
"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam mutters and fidgets uneasily, eyes fixed on the floor in front of his big feet.  
  
There's a hole in his right sock.  
  
Dean shakes his head and raises a scolding finger. "Don't you ever,  _ever,_ apologize, okay?" When Sam doesn't react apart from harrumphing his protest, he rests one of his broad palms on his little brother's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. "I mean it, Sammy. When I'm asking you not to apologize, just cause it's not your fault, then don't. We're gonna handle this like Winchesters. Like  _real_ Winchesters, okay? Okay."  
  
"But Dean, we don't have any money," Sam argues and looks up at him sadly.  
  
That's when Dean realizes that his brother has been through so much shit, like really heavy fucking dinosaur turd, and grew up without a father. He's just fucking 14 after all.  
  
Yet, it's Sam who usually stays positive, encourages Dean do to all the things he's scared of and even offers to get a fake ID to get a job somewhere. Dean would never allow that, though, someone in his family has to make something out of his life and that's going to be Sam. Hell, Dean would do anything to watch his brother become a lawyer since that's what Sam had wanted since his fourth birthday.  
  
"Dammit, Sammy, I'm gonna knit you freaking pants if I have to," Dean promises and is more than just a little relieved when his brother pulls a face. "You'd actually do that, wouldn't you?" he asks then, voice totally serious.   
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I'm so sorry, Dean," Sam says once more and reaches down to tug his shirt back in place. This is really awful, even for their conditions. "I know, but it's not your fault, it's-" he trails off and knits his brows. While he's thinking frantically about what John's name just triggered inside him apart from the light panic attack he's gotten used to, his hand slips from Sam's shoulder.  
  
"John."  
  
Slowly, Sam nods. "Yes, Dean, I know that it's his fault, but-"  
  
"No, you don't understand, Sammy. John. John can pay your clothes. And he can buy you this weird book you need for Science class."  
  
Before Sam can disabuse him and pull his bitch face, Dean is out of the room again, firmly clutching his phone in his hand is his pocket, and storms down the stairs.  
  
He finds his father sitting at the kitchen table, a glass of water in his hands, that the slowly rolls in between his palms while staring at the bottom of it as if every single answer to his questions and his life was hidden down there, in the depths of the water, and he'd just have to look long enough to unravel them.  
  
The lights are turned off, but since it's only afternoon, there's still rays of sun illuminating the kitchen floor, making a shadow dance across his father's face.  
  
"John," Dean addresses him and stands in front of his dad, shoulders drawn up. He's close enough that if he wanted, he could easily plant a punch on the mouth that hurt him so many times. Of course he doesn't, though. Dean had sworn himself that he would never physically - or mentally - harm someone who is either family or innocent.   
  
But keeping that promise isn't really easy in that very moment.  
  
"Dean," John says, sounding surprised, and lifts his head to take a gander at his son, "I assume you didn't exactly come to sit down and talk, did you?" His eyes flicker down at the glass again. "Not really, I need you to buy Sammy clothes," he states sternly.   
  
A deep crease appears between his father's brows. "Okay, do you need anything as well?"  
  
The question was not what Dean was prepared for, it takes him completely aback and he needs a moment to figure out how to form words with his lips. "No, I have my own money." Which isn't really a lie, he does have his own money, he just doesn't have it right  _now.  
  
_ "I'm so sorry, Dean, I wish I could prove that."  
  
"Stay sober, that would be a good start," Dean scoffs sardonically and turns his head away. He can't stand to look at John, can't stand to see him sitting here at the kitchen table where he and Sammy eat breakfast together when he's away. Where Sammy would shed a tear and he wouldn't have the words to tell his little brother how sorry he was that he has to put up with all of this.  
  
"I'm trying," John grits his teeth, "but it's hard, you have to understand."  
  
"You -  _I_ have to understand? Are you kidding me?" Dean asks tonelessly. As his father doesn't respond, he goes on, "Do you know what's hard? You think staying sober is hard? Fine. But raising a kid is harder and I still did a damn good job, I mean just look at Sammy. He's going to be nothing like you and I. Because I raised him to be a good person and believe me, it was hard. We had nothing, literally nothing."  
  
Dean punctuates his last words with a small wave of his hand in the direction of his boots.  
  
"So please don't try and tell me that staying sober is  _hard,_ " he finishes his speech.   
  
"I'm trying, Dean," John says quietly, eyes staring blankly at the glass in his hand. He slowly shakes it from side to side, as if he was watching alcohol slosh around in it. "Look at me," Dean demands.   
  
John doesn't.  
  
 _"Look at me!"  
  
_ Finally, his father looks properly at him and Dean can see how years of alcoholism have marked him, not only on the insde but on the outside, too. He almost feels sorry for him, for the wreck of a man that's left of the person who was full of joie de vivre once.   
  
"I'm not saying we can't start over, okay?" he says, softer than before, "I just - give me some time. It hasn't been easy." And his father nods, smiling, but Dean notices his knuckles emerging around his glass. John is not as calm as he pretends to be.  
  
Dean is about to say something else, something that would relax both of them to a certain point, but is interrupted by the ringing of his phone.  
  
It's Jamie.  
  
"Sorry, gotta take that," he mutters, turns away, swiping his thumb across his phone screen to answer the call, and adjourns to the sitting-room. "Jamie?"  
  
 _"Yeah, hi, hello."  
  
_ "What's up? You callin' for a reason?"  
  
 _"Ah, look man, are you free today? Say yes and I'll love you forever, I swear."_ He can hear his best friend laugh at the other end of the line.  
  
"Uh, sure, why?"  
  
 _"I need help with this project for Algebra and figured maybe you could, yanno, help."  
  
_ Dean groans in frustration; this isn't really what he wants to do on a Sunday afternoon on an already really crappy day. Yet, he still says, "Yeah, that's cool. We can do that."  
  
 _"Great, I'll be at your place in a minute!"  
  
_ "Wait, you've been expecting me to say yes? You are one son of a bitch, man."  
  
 _"Love you, toooo,"_ Jamie chants and ends the call before Dean can insult him any further. He quickly goes upstairs to tidy up his room at least a little before his best friend arrives since he's not really one to keep his room clean. Maybe he should pay Sammy for cleaning his room on the rare occasions that he does.  
  
Actually, he probably would if he had the money.  
  
"Dean, what did you do?" Sam asks quietly, poking his head in the room. "You're getting clothes really soon, okay? That's all that matters."   
  
His brother cautiously eyes him over and raises a questioning brow. "Did you use violence or something? Because-"  
  
"Yeah, right, Sammy, you can law."  
  
Grumbling, Sam stomps off to his room, but not without saying, "One day I will _law_ you to death."   
  
Dean is just about to find a place for the drawings - he doesn't really want to put them under the bed since they're not framed and it must have been literally  _ages_ since anyone cleaned down there and the sketches are just too precious to get dirty - and is seriously contemplating hiding them in the underwear drawer of his closet as someone rings the bell at the front door.  
  
Probably he should go and open the door, but Sammy's gonna reach it first anyway, so why bother? His eyes sweep through his room and Dean briefly lets them linger on the shelf with his records, humming quietly.  
  
It's  _Pocketful Of Sunshine.  
  
_ Immediately the memories of Cas' arms around him as they fell asleep on the couch that night, the way Castiel had looked up at him, so puzzled and out of place that it was simply adorable, as he fed him the egg, and just the entire day on the sofa, pop up in Dean's mind and a wide grin spreads across his face.  
  
Downstairs, he can hear the small noise of a door being opened and then John's voice sounds, "Hello, Jonathan."  
  
Cold pierces through Dean's veins, making the iciness spill into his skin and bones, and he freezes in place, the hand with Cas' drawings somewhere about the level of his chest.  
  
"Good afternoon, Mr. Winchester," he can hear Jamie say, obviously equally shocked and bemused at the sight of Dean's father welcoming him at the doorstep instead of the best friend he expected. "Come on in, Jonathan."  
  
"Actually, it's Jamie, sir," he mumbles bashfully. The next thing Dean hears is the shuffling of feet on wooden floor and then the front door clunking shut again. "Right, James." That's when he decides to step in and although he knows it's been pretty unfair having Jamie suffer for so long, he just hadn't been able to move. How on earth did he not think this through thoroughly and consider the possibility of his father opening the door?  
  
It's sad, coming to think about it, that he'd gotten so used to John's absence that his  _presence_ was a shock not only to his sons, but to their friends as well.  
  
Within seconds, Dean is at Jamie's side and tugs him forwards and while his friend awkwardly stumbles after him, he shoots his father an angry glare. "Don't," Dean mouths, face tensing in aggravation. John's shoulders sink noticably, but that's really his own fault. Maybe it would have been better if he'd stayed wherever he'd been in those few weeks.  
  
As soon as Dean closes the door behind Jamie and himself, his friend clears his throat. Seems like it's time for one of Jamie's speeches.  
  
"Okay, first of all, Dean: Since when the fuck is your dad home and sober on top of that? Dude, I've been your friend since ever and your dad was the one thing that's always been missing when I've visited. No, sorry, one time he's been wasted and-"  
  
He stops quickly when his eyes meet Dean's and swallows the rest of the sentence by choking the words down, sheepishly mumbling an apology. Jamie usually is not lost for words, but even he knows that John is one of Dean's most sensitive spots. "Second - sorry, but I gotta ask - what are those?"  
  
Dean lifts his eyes from where he'd fixed them on a tiny hole in the rug in front of his bed and immediately can sense the blush sprawl from his neck right up to the tips of his ears. With a triumphant grin, Jamie waves the drawings in Dean's face and whistles in a way that Dean assumes is supposed to be slinky.  
  
"Tha- uh - drawings," he explains hastily and reaches out to snatch them from Jamie.  
  
His asshole-douchebag-fuckdick friend, however, sidesteps him and collapses onto Dean's bed before he slowly rakes his eyes over the first drawing, the one showing both him and Cas.  
  
"Thank you, Dean Winchester," he reads and snickers maliciously.  
  
Groaning, Dean sinks into the chair standing in front of his desk and buries his face in his hands. How much worse could this get?  
  
He had no idea at this point that, actually, it could get _way_ worse.  
  
Once Jamie is done scanning the sketch, he moves on to the second drawing. "Gotta admit, he's one hell of a stalker, hm?" he chuckles.  
  
Dean is about to snap at his friend, but Jamie wasn't done talking. "These are really good, Dean. I'm kinda glad you're doing better." The snarky comment that already had been resting on the tip of Dean's tongue crawls back down his throat and he has to swallow thickly around it.  
  
"Thanks, Jamie."  
  
"One more question, though!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Who's the bottom?"  
  
Jamie's lips twitch and Dean can tell that bastard is only barely holding back a laugh. He's not willing to answer him, but the blush on his cheeks, which feels like it would singe the flesh there, makes things clear enough for Jamie to burst out in a cackle.  
  
"Eat me, fucker," Dean grumbles and turns away, pretending to search for his Algebra book. "Thank you, but no thanks. I bet Cas already does that."  
  
"Jesus, Jamie!"  
  
While his friend errupts in a gale of laughter, Dean stomps over to him and snatches the drawings out of Jamie's hand. "You are terrible, I don't know why I agreed to this," he bleats and unceremoniously stuffs the sketches into a drawer under his desk.    
  
"You still haven't answered my first question," Jamie says unassertively.  
  
Dean can feel his stomach sink into his boots as he turns to look at his friend. "He came back yesterday, I think, I'm not quite sure, I've been out and when I came home this morning, he just was there and he was sober, too. I don't know where he's been, with  _whom_ he's been or what he's done while he was away. All I know is that he's back, sober and willing to make up for not being the Dad-Of-The-Year in the last few years. Plus, I bet he still holds an aversion against - you know - faggots, as he calls it."  
  
A long-drawn-out breath leaves Jamie's lips and Dean knows that when Jamie is speechless, something is either really bad, really confusing or has two long legs and is called a female human being.  
  
"So, you think he might have a problem with you and Cas being together?" he asks eventually, eyes cast at the ground.  
  
"Pretty sure he will, yeah."  
  
"How about you find out where he's been and what made him wanna stay away from the alcohol and maybe you can just suggest to introduce Cas to him then?"  
  
"I don't know, man, I don't wanna make things unnecessarily difficult," Dean objects. "Hey, do you have work today?" Jamie asks then, totally out of the blue. "Nah, Jo took my shift, she's going on some kind of trip with her friends and needs the money more than I do, I guess. Why are you asking?"  
  
"We should go and get drunk, first period's free tomorrow."  
  
Pursing his lips, Dean shakes his head. "No way, you're gonna sit on your lazy ass and do your Algebra project thing."  
  
His friend shoots him an outright hateful glare, but slides off Dean's bed and onto the ground with a disgruntled noise, where he pulls various papers and booklets out of his backpack. "Oh, Jesus, Jamie, what have you gotten yourself into?" Dean kvetches.  
  
"It's called  _higher mathematics,_ " Jamie groans and flips the first book open.  
  
They actually manage to get most of the work done, but Dean's friend is simply unable to contain himself, he just keeps pumping him for information about his and Castiel's relationship.   
  
"You do know that gay marriage is not legalized here in Kansas, right?"  
  
Dean nearly chokes and quickly puts the pen he's held in his hand aside, so he can press his palm against his lips to stifle the coughs that follow. "You stop right there," he mutters and shifts to lean across the mess of books and papers to fetch a ruler.  
  
"I'm serious, let's just play it through, okay?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Okay, just imagine you and Cas are happy and everything and one day you want to take the next step," a weird expression makes Jamie's jaw go tense, "but you'd have to go to Iowa at least to get actually married."  
  
Dean slams his hand hard enough onto the floor for it to burn unpleasantly. "I don't want to think about fucking marrying anyone right now!"  
  
 _Not good enough. No one could love you ever, you hear me? Hope you die. Wish you didn't make it back. Never good enough. Why are you still with Cas? Do you realize that he could do so much better? That you're just weighing him down? Why are you still here? Why, Dean? Because you're scared and lonely and desperate for the bit of affection that Cas shows you, right? Right.  
  
_ The nerve-wracking delusion of someone speaking in the back of Dean's head has returned and it doesn't help that it's still talking like his father.  
  
A shaking breath is the only evidence that Dean isn't as calm as he wishes he was.  
  
Without another word, he leans forwards again and scribbles a few more figures onto an empty sheet, angling his shoulder until his face is shielded from Jamie's eyes. "Sorry, man," Jamie mussitates and adjusts his baseball cap.  
  
"It's cool, dude, what's the next equation?"  
  
The rustling of pages being flipped is everything Dean hears, then Jamie's voice, "This one's too easy.  _6+c+d=69._ "  
  
Dean's hand flies over the paper, neatly writing it down, and he turns his head to look over his shoulder just to find Jamie pressing his fist against his mouth, face going as red as a beet with suppressed laughter. "What is it this time?" Dean wants to know.  
  
But his friend is too busy trying not to suffocate, so he can't answer properly. He can, however, jab his finger in Dean's direction and then down at the equation, tapping the paper where _d_ is written, and then links  _c+d_ with  _69_.  
  
 _Oh Jesus Christ.  
  
_ "When you manage to get laid once, Jamie, I swear, I will harrass you worse than you could ever think of being harrassed, you hear me?" he says with a snarl.  
  
After a minute of heavy breathing on Jamie's side and annoyed huffing on Dean's, they go back to working on Jamie's project and by the time the last number is written down more or less correctly, both flop onto their backs with an exhausted sigh.  
  
"We're never doing that again," Dean states.  
  
"Definitely."  
  
For a while, they just stare up at the ceiling of Dean's room and keep their thoughts to themselves. "Hey, Dean, what time's it?"  
  
Dean rolls onto his front with a sorrowful noise and grabs his phone from where it had halfway skidded under the bed. "Seven, why? Can you finally go home?" he sneers. "Aw, love it when you're being all mean, Dean," Jamie purrs and lightly punches his upper arm.  
  
"C'mon, let's go get drunk," he pleads.  
  
"I really don't like the idea."  
  
Jamie snorts out a laugh and sits up with his back against Dean's bedpost. "You're having bad thoughts and you need to forget and tell me what's got your panties in a twist, my friend," he explains, obviously trying to sound scholarly.  
  
"Still don't like it."  
  
  
**********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
Saying that he didn't like the idea wasn't supposed to mean that an hour later Dean finds himself slumped into a stool next to Jamie at the bar, his third beer already half empty in front of him.  
  
He feels warmer, calmed down somehow, and suddenly marrying Cas doesn't seem so preposterous anymore.   
  
Whatever Jamie might have meant when he said that Dean should tell him what it is that was bothering him before, it's totally forgotten given a barmaid with long black hair that falls in soft curls over slim shoulders. Dean downs the rest of his beer and smears his hand across his mouth in order to wipe off the last droplets of his beverage.  
  
The barmaid gives Dean a caring look as he raises his hand, flagging her down, and orders another beer.  
  
"Beer's on me," Jamie had said, the fucking spoiled kid. His parents are always busy, usually on trips, travelling the world and saving people from weird ass diseases that Dean doesn't even know how to pronounce, let alone spell. But being always home alone, Jamie often says, has the advantage of having your parents leave you shit tons of money.   
  
The first time Jamie'd said so, Dean had stared at him until his friend had understood that not everyone was like this, that some parents were just assholes.  
  
All of a sudden, Jamie turns in his stool and lets his amber eyes sweep up at Dean. He's already more than just slightly tipsy, the lightweight. Jamie should get used to his low tolerance level, but no matter how many times Dean had told him, hidden in a joke or right in the face, the boy just never listens.  
  
"So, what's the matter with you 'n Cassie Nessie?" he asks, propping his elbow on the bar.  
  
Behind Jamie, Dean can spot Jo rushing from one table to the other, balancing beer mugs and a bottle of whiskey in her slender arms like a freaking pro.  
  
"I feel like I should stay as far away from Cas as possible," Dean blurts out.  
  
 _Wait.  
  
_ He could facepalm himself in that very moment. Dean doesn't even know  _why the fuck_ he would admit it to anyone, especially a drunk Jamie. It's not like Jamie would remember big parts of this evening, but still, Dean didn't even want to think about the issues he's created in his head.  
  
In real life, there were no issues between him and Cas. It could be the apple pie with vanilla ice cream life he's always dreamed of, maybe they'd stay together for a long while, actually.   
  
But it's Dean's mind, the fact that his father has pretty much forced the the self-loathing upon him, that makes believing in reciprocated love so fucking  _hard_ and painful. On a bad night, Dean's likely to think it would have been better if he never met Cas.  
  
He's happy when he is with Cas, that's not the point. The point is that John has ruined Dean and now he doesn't know how to tell Cas that he needs to fix him.  
  
"Why?" Jamie continues and rests his head lazily in his hand.  
  
 _Don't talk, Dean, don't._ "Never good enough," he mutters gloomily, taking a huge slug of his beer, "John says so and I'm weighing Cas down and I'm not enough, never enough." Despite having known Jamie for several years now, Dean didn't see coming what happens next.  
  
The flat palm of his friend makes painfully acquaintance with his right cheek and the slap echoes in the overcrowded taproom for half an eternity.   
  
"Hey, you!" Jo scolds Jamie and is about to physically shoo him away, so Dean has to interrupt by saying, "It's cool, deserved it probably," and Jo rushes off, still swearing like a trooper.   
  
"Dean," Jamie approaches him quietly.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I don't exactly know what happened between you and your dad, but I don't friggin' see," he lays emphasis on his words with hard stabs at the counter plate of the bar, "how you are not good enough. Dude, before you're going crazy and do something stupid, because I know you and that you like running away from your problems rather than simply facing them-"  
  
He presses his index finger against Dean's lips, making an annoying cooing noise before Dean can protest.  
  
"Don't argue, it's the truth. So, you need to get one thing straight. John," Jamie extends his right hand," can't have any influence on your relationship." He stretches out his left arm, waving both simultaneously. "Hello, independence, my friend."  
  
Dean sighs wearily and pulls out his phone. It's not even 9 and he's already missing Cas, even though it's been less than 10 hours since he last saw him. All he'd have to do is tap the little message icon and type something and Cas would reply.  
  
He's just not sure  _what_ he would write.   
  
Apparently, that's what Jamie thinks, too, because the next thing Dean knows is that there's a skinny arm dashing forwards and stealing his phone right from his hands. For a second he contemplates snatching it back, but finds himself too lazy and warm to move. "Loverboy's staying out of this tonight," Jamie explains, randomly tapping around on Dean's phone.   
  
"Mmh, just stay away from my gallery," Dean mutters and gives his attention to the beer mug in front of him again. He is quite sure that somewhere between pictures of his baby are a few snapshots of Cas.   
  
Cas doing random shit like wiping the counter in his kitchen, Cas in the car, Cas stooping to pick up a book, Cas, Cas, always Cas.  
  
There are no pictures of Dean and Cas together expect for the few that Lisa took and Dean isn't sure whether he wants to change that as soon as possible or keep it that way so he wouldn't have to feel worse.  
  
"Yeah, no gallery," Jamie copycats him.  
  
After a few minutes, Dean gets his phone back. "No cool stuff," Jamie states in disappointment. Dean simply empties his beer mug and wipes his hand over his lips once more. "Jamie, we should go home, 's school tomorrow," he mumbles, sliding off the chair, and holds onto the edge of the bar.  
  
Unlike Jamie, Dean has quite a high tolerance level, but he hasn't eaten anything apart from Cas' pancakes this morning and drinking on an empty stomach never has ended well for Dean so far, especially not when his thoughts are trying to drown him in a sea of insults and hate. That's why he really should go home, take a cold shower and go to bed to sleep it off. Having a headache on a Monday is no nice thing to wake up to, really.  
  
He manages to convince Jamie to tear his eyes off the barmaid by bluntly telling him that he doesn't have a single damn chance with the girl, which, to both his and Jamie's surprise, is refuted when she slides a beer coaster across the bar and winks at Jamie, not even trying to be subtle.  
  
"I got her number," Jamie mumbles on their way out, beaming at the piece of cardboard in his hands and shaking his head in utter disbelief.  
  
"Mhm," Dean makes and pushes the door open, a cool breeze immediately brushing the bare skin of his arms, taking a tiny bit of the sorrow away, and his shoulders start feeling lighter. "Can you drive?" Jamie asks quietly, still not able to take his eyes off the beer coaster.  
  
"I guess."  
  
His sight is not exactly immaculate anymore, the edges already starting to blur, but Dean is positive he will manage to drive both of them home safely.  
  
Once Jamie has buckled his seat belt, he starts driving, revving the engine accidentally, and turns on the radio. A slow song is on, one that he usually would have skipped, but today it just fits his mood and the given circumstances. "Hey, Dean," Jamie says.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Don't do anything stupid okay?"  
  
"Dunno what you're talking about," Dean dodges and turns right at the next corner, steering with his left hand only. "Just this one time try and don't run away, okay?"  
  
"I'm trying, Jamie, I just want him to be happy."  
  
An amused laugh escapes his friend, "Then don't fucking mess up, okay?"  
  
"Okay."  
  
It's only a matter of minutes that Jamie disappears inside the huge house he lives in and Dean parks the Impala in front of a street lamp across the street from his house. The air is warm and humid, almost muggy, but Dean feels several degrees too cold as he closes the distance to the front door and steps inside.  
  
There's no one sitting in the kitchen, not a single sound coming from the living room as a sign that either Sammy or John is watching TV, it's like the place was abandoned.  
  
When Dean spots the bottle of whiskey standing on the counter, his stomach gives a painful twist that seems to affect his lungs because the air inside them turns into slime and just sinks back down in his chest. A heavy weight that forces him to breathe through his nose.  
  
"John?" he calls tentatively.  
  
While looking for his father in the kitchen first, Dean takes a closer look at the bottle. It's still quite full, nothing more than a finger's breadth missing, but knowing that doesn't make him feel any better.   
  
"John?" Dean says, louder this time, and enters the living room, curiously looking around for a vital sign of his father.  
  
"Goddammit, Dad!"  
  
A groan sounds somewhere near the couch and when Dean turns the lights on, he can see a mop of messy dark hair on the ugly ass scatter cushion John once bought. It's not the messy dark hair he wants to see, though.  
  
"Hello, Dean," his father grumbles and sits up straight, rubbing the heels of his hands against his cheeks.  
  
"Have you been drinking?" Dean asks straightforward. Realization flickers across John's face and he cocks his head ever so slightly, squinting at his son. The motion reminds Dean of Castiel in so many ways, he wishes he'd have a valid reason to prohibit his father from doing that.  
  
"Yes, but only one glass and I'm sure I've learned how to deal with," his father seems to be looking for a fitting word, "the debauchery."  
  
Dean leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest, and suddenly the alcohol takes a hold. He has to close his eyes for a moment and mumbles, "Yeah, ain't debauchery a bitch? But, uh, good you stayed sober, I guess. I'm just gonna go."  
  
Not so gracefully exiting, Dean makes his way upstairs and flops down on his bed, moaning as he sinks into his mattress. The whole situation could only be better if a certain warm body was right beside him now. A lever is thrown in his head and he fumbles to get his phone out of his pocket.  
  
As he unlocks the screen, he's more than surprised to actually have an unread message.  
  
 **New message from: Cas**  
 **Hello, Dean, I just wanted to make sure you're okay. -C  
  
** A broad grin makes Dean's lips twitch at the simplicity of the message. It might be nothing more than a few words, but this is just so Cas. No abbrevations, no smiley faces, everything typed out and correct punctuation.  
  
 **Rlly need u here, Cas  
  
** For a brief moment Dean wonders whether this was a good idea, but he might as well be completely honest with him, Cas is his boyfriend after all.  
  
 **New message from: Cas  
Did something happen, Dean? ** comes the reply only a minute later and Dean can't help but laugh because he actually can imagine the exact face Cas is pulling right now. Eyebrows probably slightly drawn together and eyes narrowed, looking like an offended cat or something.  
  
 **Something would happen if u were here w me  
  
** Dean crosses his fingers and tries to blind out the hint of throbbing in his head, tucking his pillow under his chin. He just really,  _really,_ hopes Cas knows how to do that kind of thing.   
  
When his phone buzzes again and Dean lets his eyes scan the tiny letters quickly, he bursts out in a quiet chuckle. The message still manages to send a hot jolt of arousal down between his legs.  
  
 **New message from: Cas  
I assume this is what people would call sexting, then?  
  
** Before Dean answers, he glances up from his bed to make sure his door is locked since he really could imagine nicer things than having John or - motherfucking Jesus on a skateboard -  _Sammy_ walk in on him.  
  
 **Yea need u rlly bad, need u so bad cas  
  
** **New message from: Cas  
** **Would you like me to make you forget everything? Everything apart from the feeling of being filled up. Do you want that, Dean? Want me to take you to the edge and not quite tip you over?  
  
** From one second to the other Dean's breathing is ragged, shallow, and he needs to stifle a moan. He didn't expect Cas to go from awkwardly asking about sexting to sending not only a jolt, like a minute before, but a fucking tsunami wave of pleasure into his increasingly tightening pants.  
  
 **Please cas so hard 4 u, need it need u  
  
** Dean rolls over onto his back, lifting his hips to push his pants down to his knees at least, from where he easily can kick them off. For once, he's lucky that he's gotten used to toeing off his boots as soon as he enters the house. Slowly, he slips his hand under the waistband of his boxershorts.  
  
Before he can go any further than that, though, his phone buzzes and he has to use his left hand to open the text.  
  
 **New message from: Cas  
Are you on your hands and knees for me?  
  
** Hastily getting into the desired position, Dean types a quick reply and can't get himself to care whether he's misspelling something because this is about to get really interesting.  
  
 **Yes on mz hand n knees just please**

 **New message from: Cas  
Good, Dean. Now imagine me kneeling behind you, jerking you slowly, with my fingers up that tight, little hole of yours.  
  
** A chill makes Dean's entire body tremble. He squeezes at the base of his cock to not simply come from those few words alone. As he types his response, his fingers are still shaking lightly. "Jesus, Cas," he groans into his pillow, picturing his boyfriend just like he'd told him to.   
  
 **Im so hard it hurts fuck  
  
** And he really is, a damp spot at the front of his underwear is evidence enough for the drops of precome dribbling down from his slit. Dean can only barely resist the urge to give a few firm strokes that would suffice to send him flying high. He doesn't even care about how he'd feel afterwards, right now he just needs to turn the flamelet warming his insides into dynamite, set fire to the igniter cord and watch it explode.  
  
 **New message from: Cas  
I bet you're looking beautiful like this. Sprawled out underneath me, whimpering, and I bet you're begging for me to finally give it to you, aren't you, Dean?   
  
Yea want u 2 fuck me so hard ** Dean types. With every second passing both the orgasm burning in his belly as he jerks his hand in a slow, steady rhythm and his self-hatred grow.   
  
 **New message from: Cas  
I want you to get yourself close to the efgr, but stay theeewwwere okay?  
  
** His orgasm is so close, it physically hurts holding himself back, but Dean wants to hear what else Cas would write, though the last message has been quite confusing. By now, he's just thrusting into his fist, squeezing hard whenever he feels like the pleasure might overwhelm him.  
  
A few seconds later, his phone buzzes again.  
  
 **New message from: Cas  
I meant to say edge. My apologies, my hand is shaking quite badly.  
  
** Dean lets out a long sigh of relief because he honestly doesn't know what he'd been expecting, but Cas jerking off to dirty thoughts of him definitely hadn't been a part of it.  
  
His hand moves faster and faster of its own accord and the mental image of Cas laying on his bed and touching himself and looking so fucking _wrecked_ doesn't help at all.  
  
 **Need 2 cum cas pls  
  
** The following minute is hell, it's hell and Dean loves it. He loves every second of the inferno raging inside him, burning him and melting its way to his cock, that's throbbing harder than his head.   
  
 **New message from: Cas  
Think of me when you do, think about how my hand would feel around you, how my fingers would hit all the right places inside you, making you tremble.  
  
** That's too much. Dean presses his head into the pillow just in time to suffocate the outcry that makes its way up his throat as his orgasm rips through him. When he can feel his load coat his fingers and it meets the sheets with a wet noise, Dean only sees Cas behind his closed eyelids.  
  
As soon as he comes down from his high, Dean rolls onto his side, skillfully avoiding the wet spot on the sheets, and reaches for his phone again.  
  
 **Hope u thought of me when u came.  
  
** This time it takes Cas longer than before to reply and when the phone finally vibrates against Dean's thigh, which is still numb from the intensity of his orgasm, there's two new messages.  
  
 **New message from: Cas  
I don't know whether this was meant to be sardonic or not, but, yes, I did. Goodnight, Dean, I love you.  
  
New message from: Sasquatch   
Dean sTOp fuckin jerking off I'm tryna SLEEP!  
  
** His hands fail him, drop his phone onto the mattress, and he can't be bothered to uncurl his arm from where it's wrapped around his naked waist. Before he falls asleep, though, he's consumed by a rant of the small voice in the back of his head, telling him once more that he's no good for Cas and that it's just a matter of time until the relationship will destroy either of them.  
  
Dean doesn't text Cas back that night.  
  
  
**********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
Weeks pass, school ends and all of a sudden, Dean doesn't know what to do with his free time.

Castiel is busy typing out applications and travelling Kansas and Nebraska for interviews, so Dean barely gets to see him for a while. He even has one interview in Iowa and Dean can't really help the tingling feeling that settles in his stomach at the mention of it.  
  
Jamie's in Egypt for two weeks and when he comes back, all Dean gets are pictures of him and his girlfriend - he actually managed to get his head out of his ass, called the barmaid and now they were a thing.  
  
He spends most of his days tuning up his baby, cleaning out her trunk and finally fixing the rear view mirror that had been shattered for far too long, Dean just never had the time to take care of it.  
  
Sammy, the little nerd, nearly sees Jess on a daily basis and as much as Dean loves to tease his little brother about her, in fact he's really happy for the both of them. And maybe a little jealous, but he keeps that thought to himself, locked away in a drawer inside his head, a world away from the ability to make its way out of his mouth.  
  
What makes Dean happy the most, though he never talks about it to anyone, is the fact that is father manages to stay sober.

Some days, he's worried that if he goes downstairs, John might have relapsed and the kitchen table would be piled with beer and vodka bottles, but that fortunately never is the case. Usually, there's breakfast on the table, not as delicious as he himself would have managed to cook it, but it's better than anything John has done in the last few years.   
  
Dean starts smiling more and even if he can't forget and forgive what happened in the past, he now believes that this might actually be the new start he's needed so badly.   
  
One afternoon, Sam goes out with Jess and Dean wakes up late because he's stayed up too long the night before due to bad thoughts. Cas' absence is not really making them vanish, quite the contrary, they multiply. When he sleepily makes his way into the kitchen, he expects John to sit in the living room, like he usually does, and watch TV. This Wednesday, however, John sits at the kitchen table, a glass filled with a clear fluid in his hands.  
  
"Morning," Dean mumbles and traipses over to the counter, pressing the button on the handle of the kettle.  
  
It starts buzzing noisily and the familiar sound is balsam for Dean. He collapses into the chair across from John, folding his arms on the table plate, and buries his face in the crook of his arm. "Good morning, Dean," his father says back and sets the glass down in front of him.  
  
"Bad night?"  
  
Dean nods his affirmation and as the kettle beeps, announcing loudly that the water boiling inside it is now officially hot enough to cause second-degree burns, he doesn't get up until a minute later. Drinking coffee has fallen into his daily routine, just like texting Cas every evening.  
  
"Dean, are you willing to listen to me now?" John asks after he finishes his drink.  
  
"What?" Dean mumbles into his mug, inhaling the fogging scent of black coffee and closing his eyes for just a split second to let it remind him of Cas. "I want to explain...myself," his father states then.  
  
In an instant, Dean's eyes snap open and he glances up at John in confusion. "What are you talking about? About what happened in the past?" The anger is back and Dean is pretty sure it leaves burns of at least the third degree in his stomach, because does John actually think there's something he could say to excuse his actions like physically abusing his children?  
  
"I don't have an excuse for what I've done, I just wanted to tell you what happened before - before I came back."  
  
Until now, Dean somehow had managed to extrude that he knew one day he'd have to listen to the story, to suppress every thought about their past and the pain. "Fine, talk," he says stiffly and leans as far away in his chair as the bit of space allows.  
  
"I've been in Minnesota," John begins, rising from his chair to fill his glass with water from the tap, "and visited your youngest brother and his mother. Grew up nice, Adam, y'know. I had to leave, I realized that I would hurt everyone in my state back then-"  
  
Dean laughs, nausea messing with his insides. "You  _would_ hurt everyone? More like you  _did_ hurt everyone. Remember this?" He turns his head, so John can see the tiny white scar he left there when he'd thrown a saucer at Dean. "That really hurt, John."  
  
"I'm sorry, Dean. Would you let me finish telling you this here first?"  
  
When his son doesn't do anything apart from crossing his arms over his chest, barricading himself, he takes that as invitation to continue talking.   
  
"I needed help, so I went to Kate. She didn't want to see me, of course, I understand that, I left her to raise Adam all alone. When she saw that I wasn't able to go anywhere else, however, she allowed me to sober up at her place. I wanted to leave two days later, but - but I thought that - she made me understand that if I didn't change anything, I would," he stops for a second to meet Dean's glare.  
  
"I would lose my family."  
  
A painful burn makes itself felt at the corners of Dean's eyes and he only barely presses out, "That wouldn't have happened if you'd listened to Sammy and me once."  
  
"I know and when I said I'm sorry, I meant it. So, Kate made me follow a weird plan that apparently helps you sober up quicker then usually and - anyway - then I told her that she's got a good family, she's married now. She said something to me. It was something..right, she said I might be able to have that, too. Said maybe it wasn't too late. And she said that if I get drunk again, she won't be there to help me onto my feet again."  
  
Dean digs his teeth into the insides of his cheeks and nods once.  
  
"I'm trying to stay sober without her help, okay? But it's hard and I'm so sorry, Dean."  
  
It doesn't make Dean forget everything that happened and it doesn't make him forgive all the things John had done to him, but at least it makes him understand what's gone on in his father's brain. On occasion he should call Kate and thank her.  
  
"Yeah okay," he finally manages to say, but his voice is shaking and his eyes still burning.   
  
"I'm so sorry."  
  
"I wish that would change the past, John," Dean tells him and slowly rises from his chair, tapping two fingers on the table plate. "But I think I understand a little better now."  
  
He turns around and trudges upstairs again, the mug with his coffee that had turned cold by now forgotten on the kitchen table with John.  
  
  
Dean manages to avoid John the next days by texting Jamie and asking him whether he could stay with him for a bit. It's a really lucky coincidence that Cindy just left to visit her grandparents in Wyoming, so Jamie agrees without a second of thinking and simply tells Dean to bring a few good records they could listen to.  
  
If Cas had been in town, Dean would have called him, but since Cas is on his way to an interview in freaking Oklahoma, Jamie was the only option to get out.  
  
Besides, he hasn't seen his best friend in way too long.  
  
Maybe Dean should tell Cas that he wouldn't want to move to Oklahoma and he should just apply to another university in Kansas because that would be better for everyone.   
  
When he comes back home, John is sitting at the kitchen table with Sammy and they're laughing about something Dean didn't get to hear. Sammy's eyes are not sad anymore and he's started skipping downstairs again, just like he did when he's only been 5. It's a relief to see his brother blossoming under the affection John shows him.  
  
Finally, he's coming out of the shell he'd hidden in when John has been at his worst and actually laid hand on him.  
  
On his way to the stairs, Dean allows his hand to brush Sammy's arm affectionately, reassuringly, he just wants to tell him that he's feeling a little better, too, without actually having to speak it out loud. Dean turns around when he's halfway up the stairs to check whether he'd closed the front door properly and that's when he sees.  
  
John isn't even looking at Sam, he's staring over at the counter and the bottle of whiskey, which had been standing on the counter plate for several weeks and still is untouched. There are dark shadows under his father's eyes and the lines around his mouth are deeper than ever.   
  
Maybe staying sober is harder than Dean had expected, but at least John is still fighting it.  
  
He enters his room, carelessly tossing his green duffel bag somewhere near his desk, and is about to slump down on his bed, still exhausted from the all-nighter he and Jamie had pulled, but can stop himself just in time. Laying on his bedspread, still wrapped up in thin plastic foil, is exactly the Led Zeppelin record John once broke - it's not the same and it's new, but a good kind of new.  
  
Slowly, Dean gathers the record in his hands, scraping a tiny hole in the foil with his nail and ripping it open, and puts it on his record player. The needle makes a small noise, but soon flawlessly follows the shallow grooves in the record's surface.   
  
A minute later, he finds himself singing along to his favorite band, snapping his fingers when it seems fitting and fist pumping whenever a loud guitar riff sounds.   
  
 ** _Wanna whole lotta love?_**  
  
Dean kneels down beside his bed, withdrawing the framed drawing Cas had given him on his birthday, and hangs it up on a nail out of pure enthusiasm. Having the drawing  _finally_ visible for everyone, makes Dean feel a thousand times better. The only thing that could possibly lift his mood even more is....  
  
He hits speed dial and impatiently presses his phone against his ear.  
  
 _"Dean?"_ comes the surprised salutation.  
  
"Cas, good to hear you." And he means it. A warm feeling settles in his stomach, erasing every single doubt about his self-worth and their relationship. Right now he can only care about the soft voice at the other end of the line.  
  
 _"It's great to hear you, too, Dean, but I might make you pay my bail if I should get caught on the phone while driving,"_ Cas laughs. Now, that he mentions it, Dean can hear the engine running in the background and the quiet melody of a song on the radio.  
  
"I would kick their asses and free you from prison," Dean jokes.  
  
His eyes are still lingering on the drawing and the pencil lines seem to trap his gaze, wanting him to keep looking at what he could have for as long as it will last.   
  
 _"My hero, hm? Look, Dean, is there anything you wanted to ask because I think I can already hear police sirens and they're coming closer, they will find me."  
  
_ "When are you coming back today, Cas?" Dean bites his lip, worrying it between his teeth hard enough to draw blood. How perfect it would be if he got to see Castiel today. He really needs him and not even in a sexual way.  
  
 _"Close to the border already. In an hour or so, I think? Uh, oh - Hey! - sorry, teenagers on the road. Oh, by the way, I think this is your shirt I'm wearing because I don't know this band, I hope you don't mind. I assume you left it last time you've been over and - Oh, Jesus, I have to hang up, there's actually a police car. Goodbye, Dean!"  
  
_ It klicks in the line and Dean whispers his "Bye, Cas," against the heated plastic of his phone without anyone to hear it.  
  
Only a nano second later, someone pushes the door to his room open and calls, "Dean, I just - oh."  
  
Dean turns around to find himself staring at John, who's staring at the drawing on Dean's wall, which isn't staring at anything. His breath falters and he knows: This is the moment that's gonna decide whether John is as disinclined to homosexuals in his sober state as he is when he's drunk.   
  
A moment passes, then another one.  
  
He doesn't dare to breathe or move a single muscle, the tension is nearly killing him, and when John raises his voice again, the first thing Dean does is flinch, take a step back and raise his arms protectively.  
  
Pain makes his father's face twist, the cognition that he's scarred his son in so many ways that he doesn't even trust John not to hurt him must feel like a punch right in the face. "Is this your - well, your boyfriend?"  
  
That's so far away from what Dean had expected his father to say, that a nervous laugh catches in his throat and comes out rather broken. "Y-yeah, I - yeah, he is," Dean says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans and fidgeting uncomfortably.  
  
"Mhm," John grumbles and furrows his brows, eyes still trying to burn the drawing, "that his?"  
  
"Yeah, he's really talented," Dean smiles fondly at the floor. "Mhm," his father makes again, nodding like a robot, and turns to leave Dean alone. Before he's out of the door, though, he speaks once more, "Y'should invite him over sometime, something, dunno how that works."  
  
Dean is utterly marveled by John's reaction and alle he can do now is nod at an empty room, which he leaves only a minute later. He sprints down the stairs, taking two at a time, and catches John before he leaves to visit Dean's uncle Bobby. "Dad?"  
  
"Yeah, Dean?"  
  
"Thanks for, uh, the record," he mutters. The whole scenario had been way more emotional and dramatic when Dean had imagined it in his head only a few moments ago. John doesn't answer, he just smiles knowingly and closes the door with a quiet klick as it snaps shut.  
  
  
**********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
By the time Castiel's Mercedes appears at the end of the street, Dean's been sitting on his doorstep for a good 20 minutes.  
  
Dean has to subdue a loud laugh as he watches Cas park the car, clamber out of it and stretch until his spine pops audibly. Apparently, it hurts because Cas whips around and reaches over his shoulder to press three fingers against his cervical vertebrae.  
  
On his way to his house, Castiel keeps tugging on the hem of his - actually it's Dean's, but who cares, really - shirt and a grin makes him look even more stunning than usual.  
  
When he lifts his head, however, that grin dies down immediately and a second later he's all smiles. Big and broad and toothy and showing gums and Dean just fucking loves it so much. He loves it enough to hop to his feet and jog over to Cas, not quite running because he doesn't want to seem cheesy, but definitely walking faster than he would if Castiel had been Sammy.  
  
"Cas," he smiles and doesn't even leave the other man enough time to give so much as an answer before he wraps his arms tightly around him and closes the distance entirely, pressing himself closer against Castiel until they're nose to nose and hip to hip. "Missed you so much, Cas," he mumbles as he buries his face in the nape of his neck.  
  
He smells different, like washing powder with that ridiculous ocean scent mixed with bad coffee from a gas station, but somewhere underneath that still is Cas' scent and Dean needs it like he needs air.   
  
"I missed you, too, Dean," Castiel whispers and drops his bag on the ground beside him to cup Dean's cheeks with his hands.  
  
Fuck, he missed his hands and feeling them on his skin again is so good. It's so fucking good and Dean closes his eyes, humming happily. If he could, he would save this moment on video tape and play it on repeat on the next bad night that surely was to come.  
  
As Cas finally slots their lips together in a kiss, Dean brings his hands up to the back of Cas' shirt, bunching it in his fists while Castiel cradles the back of his head. It's exactly what Dean had craved in the last nights, especially when Jamie talked about nothing but Cindy.  
  
Dean pulls back for a second to mumble another, "Missed you, Cas," against the corner of the other man's mouth, but Castiel simply presses his lips against Dean's again. Not that he would mind at all.   
  
They kiss for a while, just standing in Cas' stupid front garden with his stupid lawn sprinkler and stupid mailbox and kissing each other. It's a moment of intimacy and closeness, but Dean can't be close enough to Cas. "How are you, Dean?" Cas asks breathlessly, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of Dean's neck.   
  
The question baffles Dean and his breathing stops for a second, fingers tightening in Castiel's shirt.  
  
"Dean?" Cas repeats, peppering his neck with gentle, little pecks. When Dean doesn't answer immediately again, he pulls away, cheeks lightly flushed, and looks at him in concern. "What happened? Are you okay?" He cards a hand through Dean's hair, strokes his left cheek with the thumb of his free hand and his eyes wander over his face, trying to find out what it is that made Dean hesitate.  
  
And Dean can't help it, he just can't lie to this man.  
  
"I can't really explain it, but my dad's back and wants me to bring you over and oh God, Cas, I'm scared," he confesses, hands dropping to Castiel's waist and holding onto it tightly.   
  
"Why? Is his opinion on homosexuals the same as Michael's?" Cas asks tentatively, quickly stooping to pick up his bag, and snakes his arm around Dean to guide him in the direction of his front door. While unlocking the door one-handed, Cas keeps looking at him as a signal that he's listening.  
  
Dean doesn't know how to answer the question, so he shrugs vaguely and makes a choked noise. "It's going to be just fine, I promise," Castiel says and presses another kiss to Dean's lips.   
  
It's calming and exactly what Dean needs to think straight again.  
  
"Don't wanna mess things up, Cas," he admits and lets his forehead bump against the other man's shoulder, Castiel's scent enwrapping him. "Dean," Castiel says sternly and forces Dean to look at him, "Dean, listen to me." When he attempts to avoid eye contact, Dean's boyfriend squeezes his face in his hands and shakes his head firmly. "No, listen to me. You're not going to mess anything up. It will be good, just like dinner with Michael, okay?"  
  
And even though Dean isn't convinced, he nods slowly and follows Cas inside.  
  
Castiel doesn't even look what might be in his way as he simply tosses his bag over his shoulder to pay attention to Dean again, running soothing hands down his sides and kissing his forehead repeatedly. "It's not okay, is it, Dean?" he wants to know.  
  
"Not really," Dean whispers into the silence.   
  
"What happened?"  
  
It's not that easy, really, he can't just tell him his entire life story and still expect Cas to be okay with coming over for dinner with the man that hit his sons. Although he's told Cas once that his father hated him, which he isn't even sure of anymore, Dean assumes Castiel agreed to having dinner without hesitation because that's just the way he works. He really is something else, that's for sure.   
  
"Just not really feeling good," Dean dodges and hides his face by pulling Cas in for a tight hug. The feeling of a warm chest and a beating heart against his front is so wonderful and Dean enjoys the way he can feel Cas' heartbeat speed up far too much.  
  
Apparently, Cas can guess what made Dean grin so stupidly because he shoves at his shoulder, bringing an inch of space between their chests and grumbles, "Yours isn't any better."  
  
"Ain't that good, though?" Dean jibes.  
  
The answer comes in form of a kiss, which probably is meant to shut him up, but the fact that Dean can  _feel_ Castiel pout against his mouth is for some reason the funniest thing that's happened in the last two weeks. Unable to contain himself, Dean bursts out in a full-on guffaw. Cas joins him only a few seconds later that he spends with widening his eyes at his reaction.  
  
When they manage to calm down a little, both men are wheezing and Dean feels lightheaded, invincible, as if nothing on earth could beat him down.  
  
As he goes to bed that night - his own on top of that because Cas had really been exhausted and even if he'd told Dean that of course he could stay, the shadows under his beautiful eyes had been more than visible - the bad thoughts return, though.   
  
 _Hey, Dean? Trying to sleep? Just think about what could happen when Cas meets John. Oh, bad things can happen, my friend. What if John talks Cas into leaving you? What if you mess up so bad your precious Cas doesn't want to see you again? What are you going to do then?  
  
_ Dean tries to think of the way Cas had smiled at him as he'd seen him sitting on his doorstep, the way he'd held him in his arms.  
  
 _Castiel probably is going to move anyway. Do you actually think a long distance relationship would work? Please. You don't even manage to stay in touch with Adam and he's your freaking brother. It's bound to fail.  
  
_ In consequence of being afflicted with thoughts like this and even worse, Dean falls asleep just to have inevitable nightmares about Cas and him breaking up. He wakes up several times that night, drenched in sweat and breathing hard, the blanket always kicked off his legs.   
  
At 3 am, however, Dean surrenders and gives in. He sits up with his back against the cool wall and stares at the drawing on the space right above his desk. Maybe it's bound to fail. Maybe it isn't.   
  
He'd have to wait for the day John would meet Castiel.  
  
  
**********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
It's fucking ridiculous.  
  
Sammy's eyes are wide in veneration and he's damn near salivating while Cas points at random, or so it seems to Dean, places in Sam's book and talks about something's financial implications on something that starts with  _n._ "Yeah," his little brother says on occasion and keeps beaming at Cas as if he was the most incredible thing in the world. Which he is, but Dean really doesn't like the idea of sharing.  
  
So he pushes off the counter he's been leaning against, takes a few steps until he's standing right beside Cas and wraps an arm possessively around his shoulders.  
  
Dean can feel Castiel relax under his touch and that makes him realize that Cas is just as nervous as he is.   
  
Because today is the day and Sam, who sometimes really can be the storybook-brother, made lasagna. Of course he made Dean ask Castiel whether he liked lasagna before he actually started filling the baking dish with layers of noodles and minced meat sauce. "Everyone loves lasagna!" Dean had told him, but Sammy had been stubborn and refused to move a single damn finger until he was sure Castiel  _really truly_ would enjoy dinner.  
  
The little platonic crush he obviously developed on Cas is just ridiculous.  
  
"Dean, where's John?" Sam wants to know, still watching Castiel's finger follow the line he's currently reading out loud. He shrugs briefly and quickly glances up at the clock, mumbling, "Probably buying something to drink for dinner, we ran out yesterday." Their father already is ten minutes late, but Dean is trying not to worry.   
  
John probably got stuck in evening rush hour and is now waiting for a traffic light to turn green.  
  
"Yeah," his brother agrees and fixes his eyes on Cas again, explaining his theory on something Dean doesn't understand either. "I think so, too," Castiel states eventually, flipping a page to prove Sam's statement. "What career would you like to pursue, Sam?" he asks.  
  
"I'm going to become a lawyer one day," is the unavoidable answer, "just to be able to send Dean to prison."  
  
Okay, that's new, even to Dean's ears, which have heard Sam say quite a lot of bullshit in their lives. "You probably should do that, he really can be," Castiel turns his head to smirk up at Dean gleefully, "let's just say he definitely goes on Santa's _naughty_ list."  
  
While Dean smacks the back of Cas' head fondly, Sam pretends to gag.  
  
Half an hour later, Sam asks Dean again, "Hey, Dean, where's Dad?" This time, though, Dean can't explain it because he honestly doesn't know what on earth could give John an excuse to be 40 minutes late for dinner with his sons and Dean's boyfriend.  
  
Right on cue, a key is turned in the lock of the front door and Dean can feel Cas' fingers dig into his waist where he's put his arm around him. Sam turns on a bright smile the second he hears the tiny noise and sits up a little straighter as if it was  _his_ boyfriend that was sitting on the chair Dean usually claimed as his own.  
  
"Dad," Sammy greets cheerfully.  
  
"Hey, John, good y-"  
  
Dean's sentence dies on its way out as he sees who it is that just entered their house. It is his father, but not the John he expected. He knows this John and right now, Dean honestly doesn't know whether to be scared, disenchanted or angry to see him.  
  
This John's eyes are red-rimmed, the collar of his shirt uneven and he's swaying as he makes his way over to the counter. "You!" he thunders and accusingly jabs his finger at Castiel, whose grip on Dean's hip is nearly painfully tight by now. "What have you done to my son? Brainwashed him? Hm?"  
  
"Cas, I'm so-" Dean whispers, but before he can finish apologizing, John cuts him off.  
  
"My son's not gay and definitely not gay for you."   
  
"Dad?" Sammy's voice sounds, small and hesitant and so fucking  _hurt,_ "You - you said you'd stay sober. You promised, Dad. You've been alright before you left to visit Bobby." Realization comes unsolicitedly tumbling in. "You've never been at Bobby's," Dean's brother concludes sadly.  
  
"Tried to stay sober, Sammy," John rambles around in the kitchen and Dean can see his hands shake, "really tried, but - but look at this!"  
  
And this means Dean and Cas. For an agonizing second, Dean thinks about moving away from Cas to spare him possible embarrassment, but then Castiel rises from his seat, positions himself close to Dean's side and gives a gentle squeeze at his waist. "My apologies if I caused you an inconvenience, Mr. Winchester. I honestly had no intentions in doing so, I can assure you that." No matter how calm Cas might sound, Dean can hear the insecurity in his voice, feel the fright in the way his thumb has started rubbing circles into Dean's back.  
  
Sam, however, seems to be in complete turmoil, getting up slowly and kind of stumbling over to the stairs. "I don't see what's wrong with  _this._ The only thing that's wrong is that you didn't keep your promise. Again! I can't do this anymore."  
  
He's about to turn around and probably hide in his room until everything is over, but John doesn't even let him lift his foot to take the first step.  
  
"Don't you dare turn your back to your father!"  
  
Reluctantly, Sam keeps still and glances at Cas, who just shakes his head and pulls off a tight-lipped smile. "See, Dean, 's your problem. Don't listen to me. Never did. I raised two sons in order for them to grow up right. Not like you did. Grew up wrong, grew up queer. 's a sin, you both know that, don't you?"  
  
"Cas, I'm so sorry," Dean chokes out, voice thick with tears.  
  
 _Didn't I tell you? You knew it would happen. Now what? Now John will hurt you in front of everyone you love and you won't be able to take it, will you?_ the voice in the back of his head suddenly pipes up.  
  
How could he have been so fucking stupid? Stupid enough to believe John would actually stay away from the alcohol for the sake of their family. And even if not for him, Dean had thought his father would at lest want to be sober for Sammy. The fact that not even that was enough for John Winchester to keep his promise hurts.  
  
Dean had needed his father when his mother died, but he hasn't been there to hold him, to tell him that everything would be okay again. Instead, he'd threatened to break him loose of crying about Mary and simply told him to look after Sammy.  
  
For some reason, Dean had expected John to stay sober. And what now?  
  
Now he's standing in his own kitchen with Castiel's arm around his waist, on the verge of crying, and all he can think about that this is his fault. All of it.  
  
He wants to look at Cas, wants to make it okay, but he can't stand the shocked expression on his face nor can he stand the way he shakes his head ever so slightly as if he couldn't believe what John just said. "Leave. My. House!" John yells, piggy little eyes trying to wrestle down the clear blue of Cas'.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Dean," Castiel whispers into his hair as he presses a light kiss to his temple and withdraws his arm from Dean. He takes a small step forward before turning to Dean's father, "Mr. Winchester, I - I'm sorry and I wish we'd met under different circumstances. I just want to let you know that I truly love-"  
  
"Out!" John roars.  
  
Cas' shoulders sink and Dean actually believes he can see the other man's lip bleed, but from this angle it's impossible to tell. "I'm in the car," he lets Dean know before he leaves the house.   
  
Let's face it, Dean has been stupid for trusting John not to hurt him again, to stop their family from drifting even further apart or breaking completely. He hasn't even been stupid for the right reasons. The only right thing in Dean Winchester's life at the moment is the man who'd just walked out the door.   
  
"Face it, Dean, you're not good enough. Not for him, not for anyone. Look at Sammy, he'll manage to be something better, to be  _someone._ But you?" John cracks the vodka bottle on the counter and takes a huge sip. "Snowball's friggin' chance in hell. No. Right, Sammy?"  
  
His father spins around, a bit of vodka sloshing out of the bottle and seeping into his shirt, but he doesn't even seem to notice.   
  
Sam shakes his head, covering his ears with his hands, and screws his eyes shut. "Stop!" he demands. "Please, Dad, stop saying all that."   
  
But John doesn't really pay attention to what his younger son has to say, he wildly gestures around with his arms, dropping the bottle in this process, and it lands on the tiled kitchen floor, where the glass breaks into a million tiny pieces. Just like Dean's hope for a real family had only minutes before.  
  
"Come on, Dean, you can't actually think you mean something to him?" John sneers.  
  
"Cas - We are happy, I don't understand why - I can't," Dean trails off, trying to wrestle down the tears pushing at the corners of his eyes, about to spill any second now. He's counted on John to be okay this evening and maybe accept Castiel. He hadn't expected his father to hug him tightly and tell him how much he liked him, but this hasn't been part of the plan.  
  
"Why didn't you become like your brother? He's smart, he's talented and most important of all: He's fucking straight," John continues, "I didn't raise you like that!"  
  
Dean can't stand it anymore. He hasn't been emotionally stable any time recently and having Cas come over for dinner might have been too early, but now John keeps twisting the kinfe in the wound. He's not sure how much longer he will be able to take his father's taunts.   
  
"Yeah, right," Dean spits out, "you didn't raise me at all."  
  
 _Hey, hey, Dean? You know Cas is waiting outside. Why aren't you with him right now? Is it because you don't love him quite as much as you think you do?_ John's voice says in his head.  
  
"I can't fucking hurt him anymore," Dean shouts, fisting his hands in his hair. "He doesn't deserve that, he will blame himself and I can't-" He stops mid-sentence as he realizes that he'd just talked pretty much to himself. A priggish smirk appears on his father's face.  
  
"Dean," Sam says in shock.   
  
"John, please," he gives one weak last try, shaking his head slowly. His body feels like it's throbbing, panic pulsating behind his eyelids, regardless of whether they're open or closed. "Go to your room, Sammy," John orders, tips his head back and takes a huge hit of vodka.  
  
Dean can see fear shimmer in his little brother's eyes as he slowly backs away and walks upstairs. "It's Sam for you," he says loudly enough for John to hear as he reaches the end of the stairs.  
  
That actually seems to touch John, at least in a weird kind of way because he cocks his eyebrows at his son and laughs maniacally. He's probably doing it to hide the pain, but the alcohol should have numbed him enough already.  
  
Then Dean is alone with his father.  
  
"You ruined everything," Dean mutters tonelessly, shoulders slumped forwards, "I trusted you and you broke that trust. God, I've been so damn stupid. Why on earth did I have a little faith in you, I should have known better." He laughs sadly, wiping his hand across his eyes briefly. "But do you know what's the worst? That you hurt Cas. Hurt me all you want, I get it, but him? You can't do anything to fix that."  
  
Another one of John's laughs fills the kitchen. "No, I didn't hurt him.  _You_ hurt him, it was your fault all along."  
  
And the worst thing is that this is exactly what Dean had been thinking ever since Cas had dug his nails into his hip a few minutes before.  
  
Maybe if Dean had been born in another family he could be with Castiel without anyone to put a spoke in it. Maybe if he was of legal age, he could move out and live at Cas' place. But the truth is that Dean's stuck with John, especially because Sammy's still living here, too.  
  
"I just wanted to - to have something nice in my life," Dean tells John truthfully. He doesn't even care that there's damp areas on his cheeks since there are salty tears running down his face. "I can't - John, why?" He can feel his shoulders tense, his arms are trembling from the effort not to outright start sobbing.  
  
The batch of suppressed emotions, including his self-hatred, has exploded and is now getting the best of him.  
  
"Mh, let's see...'cause you're not worth it."  
  
 _All you do is hurt people.  
  
_ John downs what's left of the vodka, wipes his hand across his puffy lips and weaves off into the living room, where he instantaneously collapses on the couch, which creaks from the weight of his drunk self. Dean is left standing in the kitchen, his tears now dripping onto his shirt.   
  
From where he's standing, he can see Castiel's car across the street and he also can spot its owner pacing up and down the sidewalk, restless, and pulling out his phone just to shove it back into his pocket a second later. Taking one weary step after the other, Dean closes the distance to the front door.  
  
The hinges creak, but he's gotten used to it, gotten over the fact that maybe he should fix it.   
  
As soon as Castiel makes eye contact with him, he crosses the street without looking for cars that possibly were to come and stops right in front of him. Dean wants to stop the tears from spilling, he really does, but he can't help it.  
  
A sob shakes his entire body.  
  
"Dean?" Cas asks carefully, brows knitted and lips red-bitten. There's worry hidden in the blue of his eyes, Dean can tell that without doubt. "Is everything okay?"  
  
"No, Cas, it's not. Actually, nothing is okay at all," he admits. When Cas lifts his hand to tilt Dean's chin up, he jerks back, eyes wide in horror. Cas' hand returns to its place, but Dean can see the disappointment on Castiel's face, the evident sadness. And Dean hates himself for reacting the way he did.   
  
Of course Cas would never hurt him, he would  _never_ do something Dean wouldn't want. Yet, Dean winced and moved away from him. This is not John in front of him after all, this is the man he loves and wants to be happy with. And probably flinching away from his hand has hurt Cas more than he shows.  
  
"Dean, it's okay, we - we can handle this," Castiel whispers.  
  
"Are you sure, Cas? 'Cause I don't think we can. Or maybe it's me. Maybe I can't handle it. I just fucking flinched away from you, Cas, from  _you._ I trust you and that's what I do?" He stares up at the sky, inhaling deeply before he speaks again. "That hurt, didn't it? I - I hurt you."  
  
Castiel has frozen, only his eyes are moving now, aimlessly roaming over Dean's face, searching for a hint that this is all just a bad dream. "I'd be lying if I said it didn't, but we can do this, Dean, I just can't do it alone."  
  
"I can't," a strangled noise leaves Dean's lips, his knees feeling like they might give in any second, "I mean, could you if it was Michael's voice in the back of your head telling you that you're not good enough for anything? I hear that every single time I look at you, every time I kiss you, every time I  _think about you._ Cas, I'm broken, I  _can't._ "  
  
"Dean, I thought we were okay" Castiel presses out hoarsely.  
  
"It is, Cas, it's fucking good. But it's me, _I'm_ not okay."  
  
"Don't do that to me, Dean, don't. If there's anything I can do to make you understand how much - how much I love you then please tell me what it is. Listen to me, Dean," Cas pleads, gripping Dean's shoulders and shaking him lightly, "your father might have traumatized you, but, Dean, this is us. This is what we have. This is what - what I need."  
  
With an effort, Dean manages to step out of Castiel's reach.  
  
"I will ruin you, Cas, I would ruin us just like my father ruined me. I can't give you what you deserve and I'm so sorry."  
  
From that second on, everything happens in slow motion. Dean turns around, setting one feet in front of the other in order to reach the front door, and as it closes behind him, the sound resonates in his head, which nearly feels as dead as the place in his chest where his heart used to be.  
  
He goes straight to his room, doesn't listen to Sammy, who yells at him to go the fuck downstairs again and fix what he's just done, doesn't care whether the door to his room breaks out of its hinges as he slams it shut.   
  
Dean doesn't even feel the tears stream down his cheeks.  
  
All he can feel is the pain numbing him from the inside out, paralyzing his body and nerves until he's motionless, dead. At least he wishes he was not alive anymore.  
  
He hurt Cas to prevent him from getting hurt even more because he himself was hurt.  
  
Dean stares out of the window for what feels like an eternity. Maybe it is; he can't tell, not with all the will in the world. He watches Castiel climb into his car and turn the key, but he doesn't watch him drive away. Probably he would if he could, but Castiel's car simply doesn't move.  
  
An hour later Dean is still staring and Cas is still sitting in his car, head dropped forward onto the steering wheel and shoulders shaking.  
  
Dean wishes he could say that he's sad, that he's angry with himself, that he's madly in love, but he can't.  
  
Because Dean is broken.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slowly sneaks away* Please don't hate me, but I'm ready for your feedback.


	18. Stereo Hearts And Pencil Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean are trying to deal with everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo school's started and, quite frankly, I have the shittiest schedule ever, so I don't know how frequently I'll be able to update. Sorry in advance! :c (Also, I'm beta-less again, which means all typos belong to me :c)
> 
> //TRIGGER WARNING FOR SELFHARM AND ATTEMPTED SUICIDE//

Dean is dying.  
  
It's a cruel way to die, really, the way his guilt tears apart his insides until they're nothing more than fragments of the vital organs they should be. Some days his lung feels like it's colliding from a single intake of breath alone.  
  
He doesn't sleep, doesn't drink.  
  
Sammy has stopped skipping and smiling entirely, most of the day he spends alone in his room with his door locked and is on the phone talking to Jess. A few times a day he would come over and check on Dean, but it's always the same. He finds his big brother laying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling or over at the picture of Cas and him kissing.  
  
One day, Sam enters the room just to find Dean staring blankly at the space above his desk, which now is cruelly empty. The drawing is gone.  
  
Sam doesn't ask.  
  
He makes sure Dean ingests a healthy amount of food and water every day, but when his big brother thinks he's in bed and goes to the bathroom late at night, Sam can always hear him throw up and it's honestly heartbreaking.   
  
"Dean," he would say and Dean would close his eyes to hide the tears welling up at the corners of his eyes.  
  
It's a sunny Monday morning when Dean leaves his room, goes downstairs and punches John, who's fallen asleep at the kitchen table after being on a bender the day before, directly in the face. His father just grunts and turns his head away to continue sleeping and Dean can't do anything apart from returning to his room and staring at the ceiling because,  _fuck,_ everything hurts.  
  
The safety his bed provided at first keeps shrinking considering the memory of Cas beneath him, curled up under the covers, arms wrapped tightly around him as if he never wanted to let him go. Cas had  _never_  wanted to give up, it had been him who destroyed everything. "What have I done?" Dean whispers tonelessly into the emptiness of his room, voice cutting through the silence like a razor blade. "Oh god, what have I done?"   
  
With a strangled noise, he sinks down beside his desk, head tucked between his knees and trying to get his breathing under control.  
  
He's lost Cas. For some reason he didn't realize it earlier, but now the simple cognition squeezes the air out of his lungs, making his chest constrict painfully. Everything in his room reminds him of Cas and how happy he'd been with him.   
  
It's kind of stupid, actually, because Dean still wants to cook for Cas and Michael and move to Iowa and stay forever on Castiel's couch in the living room with gummy worms and photo albums, but the pictures in named albums should show him and Cas, arm in arm and grinning like stupid in the camera. Snapshots of trips and poorly taken selfies and maybe they could glue a few of Cas' drawings into the album, too. Dean still wants to wake up next to Castiel just to watch him lift his head, rub his eyes and see him smile as soon as he glances over at Dean, sleep still written across his face and the patterns of the sheets visible on his cheeks.  
  
He's still in love with Cas, but he can't feel that love. All he can feel is the gnawing guilt.  
  
Not only did he let John have influence on their relationship, Dean also pushed Castiel away. The one who'd been there for him when not even Jamie, his best friend, would talk to him, the one who genuinely loved and cared about him.  
  
Slowly lifting his head, which has started throbbing nastily again, Dean scoots over to his bed and hesitantly reaches for something hidden under the mattress.  
  
The picture frame is still flawless and so is the drawing.  
  
As he loosens the clamps at the back of the frame and the sheet of paper slides out of between the thin glass and the cardboard back, his hands are shaking. A clatter that just increases Dean’s headache sounds when he carelessly drops the frame to the floor and picks up the sketch. “Cas,” he whispers and follows the pencil lines with the tip of his index finger, mapping out Castiel’s jaw.  
  
If he hadn’t been so goddamn stupid and selfish, he’d be able to touch warm flesh instead of cold paper right now and actually  _feel_ Castiel’s stubble scrape across his fingers and the way Cas’ skin tautens over his cheekbones when he smiles.  
  
By the time his pointer finger reaches the tear on Castiel’s cheek, a grey evidence for his love that would fade at some point in their lives, his own tears are moistening his cheeks, catching at the corners of his mouth, and Dean can taste the saltiness of his anger, his overwhelming grief. He’d trade the world to go back in time and change things, to make everything okay and be with Cas once again. Because that’s all he needs. That and his little brother Sammy, who pretty much is the only thing reminding him that maybe there’s still a chance for him.  
  
“Shit,” Dean breathes, his voice nothing more than a choked-out sob.  
  
The tears are streaming down his face faster now, dripping onto his jeans and hands and eventually, it was bound to happen, really, one lands on the drawing, making the pencil lines seem blurry, when in fact they’re just covered by a drop of self-hatred that Dean’s body had produced.  
  
“No!” Dean shouts, frantically scrambling to his feet and casting about for something to wipe away the tear with. While he runs around, almost panic-fuelled, Dean hastily grabs the shirt slung over the backrest of his chair and kneels down in front of the paper again. He carefully dabs one corner of the shirt onto the wet spot and watches in relief how the cotton sucks up the salty fluid and leaves nothing but a small stain behind. That stain, however, has replaced the drawn tear with a real one.  
  
Ever so quickly, Dean puts the sketch back into its frame, securing it, and finally the floodgates open again, properly this time. Soon the even surface is covered with teardrops, in which Dean can see tiny parts of his reflection, but they’re broken and not complete. The picture they should be showing is split up in a thousand pieces.  
  
“What have I done?” Dean whispers once more before he wraps his arms around himself and allows sobs to shake his body until he can’t stop trembling even after the tears have stopped running down his face.  
  
By the time Sammy enters the room to bring him a plate with food, Dean is passed out on the floor, the drawing of Cas and himself clutched tightly to his chest.  
  
  
Dean wakes up from the ringing of his phone startling him since the sound is slightly alienated by the pile of clothes covering it. He hasn’t wanted to hear it make noises because it’s always been Cas’ name on the display, three shining letters that always had made him feel worse.  
  
At some point, Dean uncurls his arms from where they’re wrapped around the cool picture frame and rolls onto his side to rummage around in his clothes for his stupid phone.  **2 missed calls from: Number unknown**  
  
It’s still dark in his room, dawn hasn’t broken yet, and the only light source currently is the cruelly bright light coming from his phone screen. For some reason, Dean wants nothing more than call Cas because maybe, maybe he’d forgive him, but then again, he wants to keep wallowing in self-pity and lay motionless on his bed.  
  
Then his phone buzzes in his hand, showing an unknown number again, and against better knowledge, Dean answers the call with a quick swipe of his thumb.  
  
 _“Pick me up.”_ _  
  
_The voice at the other end of the line is slurry and the loud noises in the background make it very hard for him to understand the other person, but before he can ask who it is he’s talking to, that someone speaks again.  
  
 _“Can you please pick me up? I can’t – I don’t know what I’m doing. Please Gabe, I’m incapable of driving in my current state.”_ _  
  
_Cas. This is Cas and he’s dialled the wrong number. And if the simple fact that there’s Castiel on the phone with him wouldn't have sufficed to throw Dean off track, knowing that Cas is drunk definitely is. At least it’s enough to leave him speechless for mere seconds, which makes Castiel realize there’s something terribly wrong.  
  
 _“Gabe?”_  There’s a small, scared undertone to his voice that Dean doesn’t miss.  
  
“No,” he finally manages to croak, one hand coming up to cover his eyes. Of course Cas can’t see him crying, but Dean would bet a lot of money (if he owned that much) that Cas definitely is able to hear his unsteady breathing.  
  
 _“Oh.”_ _  
  
_A few seconds pass and all Dean can hear is the frantic tapping of fingertips on phone screen and Cas mumbling, _“How?”_ over and over again.  
  
 _“ ‘s not what I intended to do. Fuck,”_ Castiel mumbles before all of a sudden it clicks and the line is dead. Cas doesn’t get to hear Dean’s whispered apologies that follow half an hour after when Dean sits down on his chair and keeps telling the piece of technology in his hand how sorry he is and how much he wishes he could just take everything he’d said back.  
  
He also doesn’t get to hear the way Dean finishes his speech with three certain words that once were everything both men needed to know.  
  
Another thirty minutes later, Dean finds himself white-knuckling the toilet seat and gasping for air. His body had desperately attempted to empty the content of his stomach into the porcelain bowl in front of him, but there was nothing left to throw up. Therefore he’d been convulsed unnecessarily, arms shaking from the effort of holding the weight of his upper body upright.  
  
“Dean,” Sam’s voice suddenly sounds and then there’s footsteps approaching him, hesitantly though, as if his brother isn’t sure how Dean would react. And to be honest, Dean himself doesn’t know how to react either. He’s torn between snapping at Sammy and telling him to leave him alone and simply pulling him in for a tight hug and saying thank you properly.  
  
What eventually comes out of his mouth, in which the sour taste of his gastric juice still is lingering, is a garbled noise that sounds too wrecked to be anything near human.  
  
“What have I done?” Dean sighs, wiping the back of his hand across his lips in disgust. “You’ve been an asshole,” Sam tells him truthfully, but before Dean can do so much as agree with him, he kneels down and wraps his cloth-covered arms around his brother.  
  
Dean’s head drops forwards onto Sammy’s bony shoulder, causing his little brother to huff lightly, and he mumbles into the fabric of his shirt, “I didn’t want that, Sam, I just wanted everything to be okay.”  
  
Sam doesn’t say anything, a sign for Dean that it’s okay to go on if he wants to, but he doesn’t even know how to continue explaining what he’s done. Because there is no valid excuse for leaving Cas, expecially not since the way Dean had broken up with him had been anything but fair and comprehensible.  
  
“I love Cas, Sam,” he says quietly, exhaling slowly.  
  
“I know,” Sam assures him, clumsily patting his back with one of his broad hands, “everyone knows.”  
  
Neither of them says anything after that, Sam simply keeps hugging Dean and Dean forces the urge to shove his brother away to the back of his mind and allows himself to be held for just the little longer that it takes for him to feel not quite as terrible and shattered anymore. When Dean goes to bed later, he says, “Thanks, Sammy,” on his way out and the amused snort his brother lets out is all he needs to hear.  
  
Sam understands what he wanted to say.  
  
 _Thank you for looking after me, for taking care of me and for not letting me down. Thank you for bringing me food and something to drink and not simply letting me drown in the sea that is the pool of guilt in my stomach. Thank you for being better than I deserve. Thank you for growing up the way I’ve wanted you to, for being a good person and not as fucked up as John is. As I am. Thank you for being here for me, even if I don’t ask for your company. You’re always there. Where have I been when you got together with Jess? When did I ever ask you how you were doing? Thank you for being the way you are, Sammy. If I’m still allowed to call you that._  
  
He stays up late this night and thinks about Castiel’s voice and the way it would fill a battle field with its calming sound, making the soldiers put down their arms and fall in love with him, just like he made Dean fall in love.  
  
As Dean wakes up, there’s fresh tears in the corners of his eyes, waiting to be shed.  
  
  
**********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
 _“Where the fuck have you been?”_ _  
  
_Dean wants to sink into the mattress of his bed and never crawl back out and see the sun shine again if that would mean he could avoid Jamie’s anger. Because God knows that when Jamie truly is angry, no one is safe. Especially not Dean, who currently is the reason for his best friend’s aggravation.  
  
“I’ve uhm-“  
  
 _“You better have an explanation or I’m gonna go apeshit on your car.”_ _  
  
_To be fair, Jamie’s totally right. Dean is an asshole for forgetting about _the tour,_ but he hasn’t been in the mood for it in the first place. So even if he didn't forget about it, he probably would have declined with some crappy excuse. The thought about simply hanging up occurs to Dean, but if he actually did that, Jamie would definitely show up in less than an hour and start ranting. “I’ve been sick.”  
  
Jamie clicks his tongue in disapproval.  _“Sick? Tell me you’re shitting me, Winchester.”_ _  
  
_“Nah, I’m actually not feeling well, I was gonna call you and tell you I wasn’t gonna join you guys, but yeah. I’ve really been feeling shit,” he explains. _“Shame. Missed something out, man. You should’ve seen Rick, threw up after the fifth bar.”_ _  
  
_Dean listens to Jamie talking about _the tour,_ which basically is just him and a couple of friends going on a bender and traipsing round the local bars until neither is able to stand without swaying anymore. But he can’t really pay attention to what his friend is saying, his mind keeps wandering back to the phone call and the way Castiel’s voice had sounded. Sad and helpless, broken somehow.  
  
He probably wasn’t feeling any better than Dean himself was.  
  
Dean has stopped crying at some point, it’s like there were no tears left to shed, so whenever he felt bad from that day on, his eyes just started burning.  
  
 _“Hello?”_ _  
  
_His eyes are drawn down to where the framed drawing is laying, telling him that what is reflected on the paper actually had been reality. His reality, _their_ reality. It’s been the best thing to ever happen to him, Dean is well aware of that, but he doesn’t know how to regain it.  
  
 _“Hello? Dean?”_ _  
  
_Jamie’s voice sounds so distant and the fact that his subconsciousness starts yelling at him to fucking do something about it, to call Cas and beg for forgiveness or something equally pathetic, doesn’t really help him understand what his friend is saying.  
  
 _“DEAN, YOU MORON!”_ _  
  
_“What?” he finally replies, shaking his head to make the diziness that has settled inside his skull vanish. _“You haven’t been listening, have you?”_ _  
  
_“I listened,” Dean lies, gliding off his bed to place the framed drawing atop of his knees. There are faint streaks where he’d wiped off his tears messily, which now make another flaw on the once flawless piece of art.  
  
 _“Oh really? Then what bar did we skip?”_ _  
  
_Sometimes, Dean wishes Jamie would shut the fuck up. “Gaverick’s?” he takes a guess, tracing the edges of the picture frame fondly, a sad smile tugging the corners of his mouth down. _“Ding dong,”_ Jamie says and the next second the door to his room is pushed open.  
  
“You are wrong,” Dean’s best friend ends the sentence and hangs up, stuffing his iPhone back into the pocket of his pants, which, on short notice, are a little too tight around his thighs for it to be considered cool. At least that’s what people like Tanner would say.  
  
“Uh,” Dean makes brightly, slowly putting his phone down and pushing the drawing back under his bed. “This,” Jamie gestures vaguely at Dean and his surrounding, “is a mess. It literally looks like a storm has been here or some- Dean? Shit, what’s wrong?” He reduces his voice from talking really loudly to speaking softly and raises both eyebrows in concern.  
  
When Dean opens his mouth, nothing but a helpless noise comes out, wrecked on top of that because he can feel his eyes burning with the urge to let another waterfall of tears stream down his cheeks, which have been wet too many times in the past week for his own liking. Crying also doesn’t really boost his confidence.  
  
“Jamie, I ran away,” he breathes, angling his arm until he can bury his face in its crook, and tugs the pillow over his head.  
  
“Fuck, Dean.”  
  
Dean can feel his lower lip tremble suspiciously hard, it will only be a matter of seconds until the tears he prohibited to exist will spill and wet his skin. “Dean, hey,” Jamie stammers awkwardly, crouching down in front of his best friend and placing a hand on his shaking shoulder, another sign that Dean is using all the strength he’s got left to force back the tears.  
  
“I’m such an idiot,” is the last thing he gets out before it’s too late to save everything.  
  
His defense crumples down ingloriously, breaking to pieces in front of his own eyes, and Dean believes he can physically feel the pain he’d hidden behind that facade. There’s warm arms embracing him as the first tears are pushed out of his eyes and make their way down his cheeks. If Dean didn’t know better, he would think the skin of his cheeks had to be raw and open from the burning salt.  
  
Under different circumstances, he would have pushed Jamie away, insulted him and told him to leave, but today he fists his hands in the back of his friend’s jacket and lets everything out. “Jamie, it – it hurts, shit, it  _hurts._ ”  
  
He tries to breathe, but inhaling punches another breathless sob out of his lungs and leaves him helpless behind.  
  
There’s nothing Dean can do, he’s incapable of thinking or moving apart from bending over further and pathetically attempting to suck in the sounds that demand to be made, which eventually has him yelping and actually crying out because it’s too much for him.  
  
“I hate myself, I hate myself so much,” he confesses between sobs and garbled noises.  
  
And Jamie wraps a slender arm around his neck and for once keeps his mouth shut. He simply sits there with Dean in his arms and allows him without a verbal permission to soak the soft, grey fabric of his shirt with the tears he’s held back for so long.  
  
“I ran away,” he tells Jamie, silently crying into his shoulder now. A small, dark stain on his friend’s shirt is evidence enough for Dean’s sadness. “I know, Dean,” is the answer and if it wasn’t for the limb around his shoulder, Dean probably would’ve collapsed in that very moment.  
  
There’s only so much he can take and he’s made himself cross the line defining what he can deal with and what’s too much by breaking up with Cas in the first place, but being weak in front of someone else than Castiel and maybe Sam has never even been an option. Yet, here he is, crying his eyes out about something he caused.  
  
“John – I – he promised! It’s not all my fault.”  
  
The arms around his neck tighten, pulling Dean flush against the other boy’s side until his face is pretty much buried in Jamie’s chest, and hold him while sobs shake his body to its bones, break every single one just to instantaneously heal it and be able to break it once again.  
  
“I need him, I can’t – fuck,” Dean whimpers, fingers curling around his friend’s upper arms. “I never wanted this!”  
  
Jamie doesn’t let go of Dean for a long time, which they spend in utter silence that only occasionally is interrupted by a pained noise from Dean’s side. Said noises are anything ranging from indefinable grunts to Cas’ name and insults directed towards himself. And when Jamie finally loosens his arms around his best friend, Dean sits up, rubs his eyes and lets out a long breath.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, lifting his shoulders as though protecting himself.  
  
But Jamie just smacks the back of his head gently and tells him, “Shut up, Dean. But, really, what the hell happened?” For a moment, he hesitates because he honestly doesn’t want to repeat all the awful things John had said and he also doesn’t really feel like thinking about what Cas had looked like when he’d jerked away from him.  
  
“I did the one thing you told me not to do,” he summarizes and an infinitesimal part of him hopes that maybe Jamie would accept this as an explanation.  
  
“Dude.” Okay, Jamie obviously doesn’t.  
  
There’s one last loop hole Dean can try to slip through. “I don’t know how to start.” That only draws a groan from the other boy and Jamie drops his head backwards onto Dean’s bed. “Just start at the beginning.”  
  
“It started when my mother died,” he says. From where he’s kneeling on the floor, Dean can see his friend’s eyebrows rise until they’re almost at the level of his hairline.  
  
“I don’t understand, I thought she died in a car accident?”  
  
A sad smile makes its way onto Dean’s damp lips. “No, she didn’t. Some days I wish that it was the way it happened because things would probably be different then. She died in a fire and my – John blames me.”  
  
“That’s – I’m just – why?” Jamie asks cluelessly, glancing over at Dean in incomprehension.  
  
“Because he left the dinner  _I_ made on the stove for too long,” Dean explains, “but you get used to it, you know. You also get used to a drunk father, who tells you to look after your little brother when you’re just nine years old yourself and don’t know how to cook.”  
  
Before Jamie can say something, he goes on, “Anyway, since that day, John’s been anything but a father. He abused us, hit Sammy, did everything to make our lives hard and all I could do was try and take care of Sam.”  
  
He starts tapping a slow rhythm on his bedpost with two of his fingers.  
  
“So, as you probably can imagine, well, John has never,” Dean lets out a pained laugh at this point, quickly wiping his hand across his eyes, “been okay with me swinging both ways. And, to be honest, I thought I could deal with it since I’ll be able to move out soon, but I can't. He fucking destroyed the one thing I had that was not broken, that made me happy and I – I let him.”  
  
“I don’t understand, what did he do?” Jamie wants to know, but his voice is quiet, which means he totally understands that this isn’t easy for Dean to talk about. In fact, it’s not easy at all, it’s one of the hardest thing he ever had to do.  
  
“For starters, he throws plates at me when he feels like it, but, hey, at least he bought new ones when he’s been sober two weeks ago,” he jokes feebly, hoping to maybe ease the atmosphere in his room, but all that happens is a tight-lipped smile on his friend’s face.  
  
“He told me to invite Cas over when he was sober and I’ve been stupid enough to do it and now I hate myself even more. Is that what you’ve been waiting for, Jamie?”  
  
Jamie shakes his head ever so slowly, turning to face Dean fully, and knits his eyebrows. “No, it wasn’t, I just want to help. Talking about it usually helps.”  
  
Dean’s stomach rumbles loudly and constricts at both the hunger and Jamie’s words.  
  
“Sammy made lasagna,” he whispers, “and Cas sat on my chair, they were talking and John was late. I knew he’d said he would visit Bobby, but he promised to be in time for dinner. He obviously wasn’t, though. I’d set plates on the table and there was – fuck, Jamie, there was a vodka bottle on the counter. But it was untouched! I don’t know how it happened.”  
  
“How what happened?”  
  
Dean cringes at the memory, a chill burning its way down his spine and making his vertebrae ache. “John was drunk when he came home. Sammy smiled when he greeted him and I was so nervous. But he’s been drunk, Jamie, drunk. When he saw Cas, he told him that I wasn’t gay and all that shit and Sammy had to hear everything. It’s not like he didn’t try to leave, John just refused to let him. So – uh – it was terrible.”  
  
“I’ve been told I’m not good enough for Cas so many times. By John, by my mind,” Dean jerks his thumb in direction of his head, “and, fine, maybe I’ve always known that it’d be only a matter of time until it would become too much, but I didn’t want to let this go.”  
  
His voice is thick with tears again and he needs to blink frantically to will them down.  
  
 _Stay? For how long? As long as you’ll have me. You’re beautiful, Dean, so beautiful. Don’t do this to me. This is what we have, what I – what I need. I thought we were okay? We can do this, Dean, I just can’t do it alone..._ _  
  
_This time the voice in the back of his head sounds like Castiel, making him fall in love harder and twisting his heart in hands made of syllables.  
  
“I hurt Cas. And I hurt him more than just once. I flinched away from him when all he did was want to fix me. I needed him to fix me, but now...” Dean trails off, breathing in unsteadily.  
  
“Now, I don’t know what to do.”  
  
“Dean, why did you break up with Castiel?”  
  
“Because I love him!” he shouts, digging his nails into the callused flesh of his palms hard enough for it to actually hurt. “Maybe I was made to believe that I’m not good enough for just too long to establish any kind of healthy relationship with anyone, maybe I should never,” a dry sob escapes him, “never have let Cas get close to me.”  
  
“Bullshit!” Now it’s Jamie’s turn to yell.  
  
“You moron, Dean. That guy made you happy, Jesus Christ, even I could see that something good was happening. Have you ever seen yourself after you’ve met up with Cas? Because I did and even if I’m not exactly Doctor Sensitive, I can see love when it’s grinning right at me.”  
  
There is a moment of stunned silence in Dean’s room, before Jamie raises his voice again. “I’m sorry about what happened to you, Sam and your mom, I wish you would’ve told me, but that’s not the point right now, the point is that you’re a good person, Dean. And you don’t deserve feeling like shit.”  
  
“I’m anything but that,” he objects weakly, head coming to rest against the wood of his bedpost.  
  
“Remember when we met in middle school? Because I remember you punching this guy who always took my lunch money and breaking his nose.” Dean rolls his eyes slightly. “Yeah, but remember that I was put in detention for it?”  
  
“Not the point, man!” Jamie snaps his fingers in front of his nose. “And remember the one time you’ve glued the broken model of something back together for that girl from Physics class and were unable to finish your own project in time?”  
  
“She’s been crying, what was I gonna do?”  
  
A small smile spreads across Jamie’s face and he nods. “Exactly, what were you gonna do? Also, I remember you skipping school more than just once to pick up Sam from elementary school. What else? Right! You took the blame when I kicked the football through the window of the teacher’s room.”  
  
“Sammy is my brother and you had an important date that afternoon,” Dean excuses himself and frowns angrily, he really doesn’t get what Jamie’s aiming at.  
  
“You always put other people first, that’s what I’m trying to say. And maybe, you know, you should’ve taken care of yourself first and stayed with Cas. I don’t know what would’ve happened, but you probably wouldn’t be sitting here and crying. Maybe you’d break up at some point, maybe you wouldn’t. Who the hell knows? But I know that you put someone else first again and hurt both people by doing so.”  
  
With an exasperated sigh, Dean closes his eyes to blind out Jamie’s gesturing hands that make him feel dizzy.  
  
“I just didn’t want to hurt Cas, how did I put him first? I’ve been a selfish asshole, alright, and I only broke up with him because I knew that as long as I’d stay here, with John, our relationship never would be completely okay. I can’t give him what he needs.”  
  
“You told him that, didn’t you?” Jamie asks tentatively.  
  
Nodding just makes his head throb, but Dean rather focusses on the uncomfortable feeling than the emptiness in his chest. “Dean Winchester, you are a dumbass,” his friend says flatly.  
  
“It hurts, Jamie,” Dean whispers and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, chewing on it until it’s numb and tingles faintly. “What exactly did John say that made you panic?”  
  
The things John had said to him are still vividly present and Dean simply has to reach out and skim through the dialogue that’s pretty much written into the walls of his brain.  
  
“When I told him that he hurt Cas, he said that it was me who hurt him. I think that’s what made things clear. But when I talked to Cas, he tried to stop me, tried to make everything – Oh god, what have I done?” A single tear traces the dried out tracks of the previous ones and drips onto his shirt, a tiny dot.  
  
“Honestly, Dean, when I took you to the bar that one night, I already thought that something was wrong when you said that you weren’t good enough. I’m afraid I just haven’t been able to quite grasp the meaning of it. I’m sorry,” Jamie apologizes, rubbing his forehead slowly.  
  
“I just need him back, I can’t do this alone,” Dean insists, shaking his head furiously.  
  
“Have you ever contemplated calling him?”  
  
“He called so many times, Jamie, and I never answered. I didn’t know what I’d say. And then – a few days ago he drunk-dialled me, accidentally on top of that. He was drunk. Cas. Drunk. I’ve never seen him even tipsy!”  
  
“Wow, a drunk Mr. Novak,” Dean’s friend drawls, shoving the inevitable cap back on his head.  
  
“Hearts are like stereos,” Dean suddenly hears himself say. When his friend raises a questioning eyebrow at him, he follows that train of throughts to the end of its rails.  
  
“They beat out of a purpose. Stereos beat because people want to hear music, hearts beat for people. Mine was beating for Cas and I think that somehow losing him made my heart lose its purpose.”  
  
Jamie’s eyes are nothing more but thin slits, squinting at him in confusion.  
  
“Someone unplugged my stereo heart.”  
  
“Dean,” Jamie says slowly, “I understand that you’re sad and angry and all that, but do you have to be so cheesy?”  
  
A huffed laugh follows his friend’s words and for some reason, Dean doesn’t even know what it is, makes Dean’s own lips twitch with the urge to smile, but the grin he eventually flashes doesn’t reach his eyes.  
  
His system is suffering from a constant power cut.  
  
Jamie leaves after making Dean a sandwich in his kitchen and watching him eat it. He’s also made sure Dean wouldn’t do anything stupid like run away from home and reminded him that if he ever decided to do it anyway, he should at least take Sammy with him. As if he didn’t figure that much.  
  
But regardless of all the smart things Dean’s best friend had said that afternoon, Dean can’t help but sit on the floor late at night, staring at the phone in his lap and waiting for another mircale to happen. Of course it doesn’t. He’s never believed in miracles in the first place. Out of a stupid idea, Dean opens his contact list and scrolls down to Cas’ name with a tiny picture of Cas grinning at something, which Dean took without letting Castiel know.  
  
 **Delete contact: Cas** **  
  
**Dean taps the small button and watches the warning **Are you sure you want to delete ‘Cas’ out of your contacts?** appear on his screen. Ten minutes later Dean is banging his head against the wall lightly and Cas’ name still saved in his phone.  
  
At some point, Dean can’t stand it anymore and he hits a few buttons.  
  
 _“Hello?”_ _  
  
_It takes him more than just a couple of seconds to manage to breathe through his nose again, while he greedily savours the voice at the other end of the line in his chest, trying to replace his heart with it.  
  
 _“Hello, who is there?”_ _  
  
_Pressing his thumb to the microphone to muffle the small gasp slipping from his dry lips, Dean listens closely to the way the other man is talking.  
  
 _“Hello? Please answer or I’m gonna hang up. I do not find this kind of joke funny.”_ _  
  
_“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean blurts out, trying to hide the sadness in his words.  
  
He’s rewarded with a terribly long second of frigid silence, then,  _“Oh. Hello, Dean, is there any – anything you want?”_  Something about his voice is odd, like it’s suffocated by something. In the background, Dean can suddenly hear someone else say something to Castiel and it’s a guy’s voice on top of that.  
  
“I – I just – I don’t,” Dean stutters, unable to form a sentence that would make sense, his head is utterly emptied.  
  
 _“Oh, well, I uh – So, you’re, like...”_ _  
  
__"Castiel, put the phone down!"_  
 _  
“Hey, let go of my arm! Take your-...hey! Stop it! Hey n-nrgh, oh, hey, you- Jesus Christ, stop it!”_ Castiel argues with the guy’s voice.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Dean says once more, biting down on his knuckles forcefully to suppress the sob leaving his body at the unknown man’s voice.  _“Cassie, hang up.”_ _  
  
_Dean knows that voice, even though he didn’t recognize it at first, but there is only one person who calls Cas Cassie. “Gabriel?” he mumbles feebly. _“Damn right!”_ And a second before someone, probably Castiel’s big brother, hangs up, Dean can hear Cas say,  _“No, please, Dean wasn’t-“_ _  
  
_He doesn’t even notice the tears falling, not even when they’re drenching the collar of his shirt. Fuck, he really didn’t expect Cas to stay on the phone. He’d turned on calling identity restriction previously, so he’d get an answer, but he had assumed that Castiel would hang up immediately. Or at least as soon as he’d recognize Dean’s voice, but he didn’t.  
  
Anger bubbles inside his stomach and before he can change his mind, Dean is already on his way downstairs to look for John.  
  
“John!” he shouts, the knuckles of his right fist colliding with the counter plate in the kitchen. His skin abraides on the surface, but he can’t get himself to care, not when it’s his  _begetter_ that’s guilty of making him feel terrible enough to shove Castiel away.  
  
“John!” Dean roars, stomping into the living room and kicking the back of the couch in pure aggravation. Unfortunately, though, he doesn’t find his father laying on the sofa because then he’d woken him up the way deserves. “JOHN!” Dean yells at the top of his lungs, his hands clenched into fists.  
  
“John you fucking asshole,” he shouts, letting his fist crash into the doorframe, and watches his knuckles leave red stains behind. Hot droplets of his own blood warm the area around his shattered knuckles and only increase his anger.  
  
All of a sudden a voice from near the door sounds, “Hmph.”  
   
Dean turns on his heel and finds himself staring at John, who’s holding an empty beer bottle in his hand and making an unhappy noise as he turns it upside down and fixes his eyes on the last drop of alcohol leaving the bottle.  
  
“You,” Dean hisses and simply plants himself in front of the slightly taller man, “you have ruined everything!”  
  
His counterpart barely even acknowledges his son’s presence and attempts to push past him to fetch another bottle of beer from the counter, but Dean is faster. In one swift movement he’s in front of the counter, grabbing the bottle and holding it in his hand for a split second before saying, “This is what you want?”  
  
When John nods in confusion, he dashes the cool object in his hands onto the tiled kitchen floor, where it breaks and spills its content on the ground. His father’s eyes are as wide as his current state allows as he glares over at Dean after watching the mess on the floor to his feet. “Fuck you, John! I wanted things, too, and did I get to have them?! Like hell I did! So why should you?”  
  
Dean makes his way over to the fridge, opens the door and carelessly tosses the bottles containing alcoholic beverages onto the floor behind him, shouting insults as he does, and sometimes pretends to think about whether actually dropping the bottle. Eventually, though, every single bottle is nothing more but shards and spilt liquids.  
  
“That’s how you fucking made me feel!”  
  
His father’s head follows Dean’s outstretched arm to where it’s pointing at the broken bottles. “You broke me!”  
  
“ ‘s no reason to be rude,” John grumbles and staggers towards Dean, gripping the edge of the counter for better balance. “That’s no – I’m being rude?” he takes a few steps until he’s right in front of his father and can smell his breath. Stabbing his sternum with his pointer finger repeatedly, Dean presses out through gritted teeth, “I swear to God, one day I will kill you. I will do it. And you know what? No one will cry. I’m a good person, John, you fucking asshole.”  
  
Probably the tears, which at some point had returned, make his leaving less serious, but Dean really could care less. Something in his chest stings and he thinks that the reason for this pain might be the question suddenly swirling around in his head. _Wh_ _at if I’d been strong enough to say that two weeks ago? What if?_ _  
  
_As Dean wants to set his foot on the first step, however, his breath falters immediately.  
  
Sam can’t hide quickly enough for Dean not to see the bangs of fluffy hair disappear behind the corner of the wall. “Fuck,” he breathes, rushing up the stairs to catch Sammy by his wrist, making him squeak at the firm grip.  
  
His little brother’s eyes are reddened, his bottom lip doesn’t look any better, too, and for some reason he’s furiously thrashing his gangly arms to get away from Dean.  
  
“Sammy, Sammy,” Dean tries to coax, “what did you hear?”  
  
“What do you mean, Dean?” Sam sniffles, “The part where you said you’re broken or the part where you said you’d kill Dad?”  
  
The desperation coming over Dean is audible as he tells his brother, “I didn’t mean it, Sammy, I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to hear me say all that stuff.”  
  
Now, tears stream down Sam’s pale cheeks, washing his skin clean. “Yes, you did! Tell me – tell me you have never contemplated killing Dad, Dean,” he demands shakily, withdrawing his arm from Dean’s hands. Dean can’t do what his brother wants because he simply can't stand lying to him.  
  
“I’m sorry, I can’t.”  
  
“It’s okay, I’ve done it, too,” Sam mumbles quietly and lowers his head, so his hair is covering his face. But Dean still can see him bite down on his lip harshly.  
  
“Sam.”  
  
His brother turns away slightly, brushing his hair back and clearing his throat, before he looks at Dean again. All of a sudden there’s a bright smile taped to Sammy’s lips and Dean can’t help but wonder for how long he’s believed in this nearly perfect fake smile.  
  
If you looked closely enough, you could see the hard edges at the corners of Sam’s mouth.  
  
“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Dean sighs, carding a hand through his hair while his brother just absently scratches his forearm. “Yeah.”  
  
“I’m gonna take a shower,” Sam cuts Dean off as his big brother attempts to say something calming. A deep, sad sigh is all Dean manages to make as he watches his brother’s back disappear into the bathroom and as he slams the door shut forcefully, he returns to his room to breathe.  
  
But the air in his room is gooey from the phone call with Cas only a short while ago, settling on his shoulders as if it wanted to drag him down into the depths of self-hatred waiting for him somewhere.  
  
 _Hello, Dean. Is there anything you want?_ _  
  
_“Fuck, Cas, I want you back. I need you,” he whispers into his pillow after literally running in circles for about an hour and thinking of a way how he could make things better. For Sammy, for Cas and maybe for himself if he was able to.  
  
His eyelids are heavy and keeping them open, especially with the small sound of the shower spray running in the adjacent room, is too much of an effort. So Dean lets them flutter shut and the last thing he thinks before sleep lulls him is that he probably should tell Sam to get out of the bathroom soon or the water would be cold for the next person that would wanna take a shower.  
  
  
Dean wakes up just a few hours later, tired and hungry as hell. He honestly could devour a whole freaking dinosaur right now.  
  
His legs are a little weak as he rises from his bed and slowly trudges over to the door. In the bathroom, he still can hear the shower spray running, steadily trickling down on the body under it.  
  
He’s just out of his door that he notices there’s something wrong.  
  
 _Why is the shower spray still running?_ _  
  
_In an instant, every thought of quickly going downstairs, grabbing the leftover casserole Sammy had made yesterday and hiding in his room again, is erased from Dean’s mind.  
  
 _Sammy._ _  
  
_“Sam?” Dean asks, voice dripping with fear, and bangs on the bathroom door. The shower spray doesn’t stop running and with every second passing, Dean’s worry increases. “Sammy?”  
  
There’s not even the sound of feet moving around in the bathtub, or Sam’s crappy singing, it’s just the shower spray, telling Dean that whatever it is that’s happening behind the closed door can’t possibly be good.  
  
Out of some kind of reflex, Dean crashes shoulder-first in the door, breaking its hinges in the process, and then he’s in the bathroom, feet shoulder-width apart and rubbing his aching shoulder. The shower curtain is closed and in front of the sink is a pile of clothes – Sam’s clothes.  
  
Within a split second, Dean is next to the bathtub and as he pulls the curtain away just the slightest bit, the breath catches in his throat and he damn near chokes.  
  
There’s bloodstained water going down the drain, but it never becomes clear again. The blood leaking from the huge gashes at Sam’s wrists, bright red and making life leave Sam’s motionless, suddenly very tiny-looking body with every new drop, keeps spilling. “Oh God,” Dean whispers, his head spinning at the cruel image and his stomach twisting angrily, making him want to throw up.  
  
“Sam!”  
  
As his brother doesn’t move, Dean hastily yanks his shirt over his head and wraps it around one of Sammy’s slitted wrists, the other one still bare, gaping open for everyone to see, and turns off the water. By the time Dean’s violently trembling hands manage to wrap the towel that had been laid out in front of the bathtub, so Sam wouldn’t slip when he’d get back out, around his brother’s other wrist, his shirt is painted dark red.  
  
“Help!” Dean cries out, cupping Sam’s cheeks and shaking his head as gently as possible. “Wake up, Sammy, wake – Don’t you dare to leave me!” Sam’s head lolls back, exposing his throat, and for a second Dean thinks his brother actually is dead, but then Sammy’s eyelids twitch, weakly, as if opening his eyes would be too much to ask for. “Sam!” he yells and presses a messy kiss to his little brother’s cool forehead.  
  
The cool skin under his lips makes Dean’s brain finally work again and he fumbles with his pocket until his phone drops onto the floor, the screen cracking. “Fuck, fuck, no,” he mumbles over and over again while he punches 911 into the numerical keypad of his phone.  
  
“Sam, Sammy, hey, hey,” he whispers as brown eyes open slowly, and pins the phone between his cheek and shoulder.  
  
“Is this heaven?”  
  
“No, this is not heaven,” Dean tells him, tears of relief and fear mixing with the last bits of blood in the bathtub next to Sam’s naked body. “Dean,” Sam coughs, tilting his head to the side in an attempt to look at his brother, but his eyelids drift shut again and he never gets to tell Dean what he wanted to say.  
  
“Sam! John! Someone!”  
  
 _“911, what’s the address of your emergency?”_ a male voice suddenly sounds close to his ear and Dean is a second away from flinching back from his phone.  
  
“I – my brother, he’s bleeding and I don’t – I can’t help – please, there’s so much blood, oh God,” Dean stutters, his tongue tripping over the words in his panic. _  
  
“I’m sorry, but what is the address of your emergency?"_ the man at the other end of the line repeats his question. Dean swallows thickly, staring at his brother through a veil of tears. “311 Oak Tree Lane.” The man’s voice sounds like he’s still rather young and maybe that’s what makes Dean say, “Please, he’s all I have,” or maybe it’s the view of his bleeding, naked brother in the bathtub in front of him, breathing shallowly.  
  
 _“What’s the phone number I can call you back on?”_  the operator now wants to know, but Dean can’t listen.  
  
Sam has started moving again, arms lightly trembling and his cruelly pale chest heaving with the urge of pumping oxygen into his lungs. “So cold,” he mutters all of a sudden and that’s the thing that tips Dean over the edge entirely.  
  
Salty tears spill like mini-fountains from his green eyes and would stain his shirt visibly, which still is wrapped around Sam’s wrist, if it wasn’t for the blood on it.  
  
 _“Sir?”_ _  
  
_His voice is unsteady and interrupted by an occasional “Hey, Sammy, stay – no, don’t close your eyes” as he tells the guy he could simply call him back on the number shown on his display. _“Okay, who am I talking to?”_ _  
  
_“This is – Fuck, Sammy, no, no, hey – Dean. Dean Winchester.”  
  
Sam keeps stirring weakly, apparently trying to lift his arms if the way his biceps tenses is anything to give by. “Hey, don’t move, alright?” Dean chides softly, running his fingers down Sam’s cheek, and readjusts the phone.  
  
 _“Now tell me what your exact emergency is.”_ _  
  
_What the fucking emergency is? The emergency is that Sam for some reason felt bad enough to attempt suicide. That his little brother is bleeding and dying with every minute he stays on the phone with that anonymous male voice. That Sammy’s arms are covered by tiny, bulging scars that grace his skin up to the joints of his shoulders.  
  
Some are nearly healed, some pretty recent.  
  
“My brother is bleeding very hard and,” Dean has to stop to inhale once, “please send help.”  
  
 _“An ambulance is on the way, we need to ask you to stay calm, sir,”_ the other man says sternly. “Dean. My name is Dean and my brother is dying! You can’t just treat me like I’m just anyone.”  
  
There’s hesitation in the operator’s voice as he speaks again, “Okay, Dean. There’s an ambulance on its way.”  
  
Choking as he tries to suppress a loud sob, Dean nods, even though he knows the person on the phone with him can’t see him. The body in front of him has gone limp again, thin lips parted around small intakes of breath.  
  
“Sammy!” he addresses him, adding light pressure to his face. “Sam!”  
  
Dean pulls his brother into his arms. He can hear one of the blood-soaked makeshift bandages make contact with the tiled wall with a wet noise that goes straight to Dean’s heart. It had started racing in his chest, bumping against his ribs with every beat. And maybe if Dean wasn’t feeling so sick he might throw up just any second and crying because of his injured brother, he’d notice.  
  
 _“Dean, I’m sure it will be okay,”_ someone suddenly says and that’s when Dean notices that the call still hasn’t ended.  
  
 _“Is he breathing? Pulse steady?”_ _  
  
_Trailing one shaking hand down to Sammy’s neck, Dean whispers a “yes” into the microphone. “I’m sorry,” Sam mutters and shudders violently.  
  
“No, Sammy, hey, don’t apologize, it’s okay.”  
  
The shower curtain has slipped from the stick it’s hung on and now is covering Sam from his waist down. He honestly could be mistaken for dead if it wasn’t for the hitching breaths he lets out every now and then.  
  
 _How long has he been like this? How long did I sleep just next door and didn’t notice?_ _  
  
“You’re in a panic, that’s understandable, but I need to ask you to stay calm and-“  
  
_ “How the fuck am I supposed to stay calm when he fucking -  he just, he wanted to end his life and it’s all my fault,” Dean cuts him off, his voice dying down at the end of his sentence.  
  
 _“You’ll have to stay on the phone with me until the ambulance arrives,”_ the operator insists.  
  
But Dean presses the red button on his phone screen and places it not too carefully beneath his leg. He believes to hear sirens somewhere in the distance, telling him someone is coming for Sammy.  
  
“John!” he screams, brushing the wet hair out of his brother’s face and checking his pulse once more.  
  
“John, your son is dying, so – please!”  
  
It’s an act of pure desperation. He would never voluntarily call for his father, but this is different. In his current state, Dean doesn’t trust his hands and probably his attempt to help Sam would end up making things worse.  
  
John never comes.  
  
Instead, Dean hears the front door click shut, an engine being revved and the sound of their father disappearing out of his and Sammy’s life.  
  
Again.  
  
Sam coughs quietly, kicking his legs a little, and starts tearing up as Dean’s phone rings. “Who is there?” Dean shouts while carding a hand through his brother’s hair.  
  
 _“This is Steve. From 911. Is the ambulance there yet, Dean?”_ _  
  
_He’s about to tell the operator no when there’s the noise of squeaking tires outside the house and then a fist banging on the wooden entrance door of their home before someone rings the bell. “Yes, oh Jesus,” Dean breathes and hangs up without saying goodbye to Steve. While he quickly scrambles to his feet, wiping his bloodstained hand across his eyes, Sam’s body is convulsed by silent sobs.  
  
“I’m sorry, Dean.”  
  
Before Dean goes to open the front door in a hurry, he smiles reassuringly at his brother, trying to signal him that everything is going to be okay.  
  
Dean has always thought movies were lying about how when a loved one was carried somewhere to be brought to the hospital time flies by, but they weren’t. His vision becomes blurry by how fast everything happens.  
  
Two men push past him and one is up the stairs while the other one makes Dean tell him what happened as good as he can.  
  
“Dean! Dean!” Sam whimpers as they carry him away on a gurney and Dean remembers holding his hand while climbing into the large-capitcity ambulance. He also remembers telling the man he thinks is also named Steve –  _Christ, why does everyone has to be called Steve? –_ that their father currently is away because of the asshole-syndrome.  
  
That comment makes Sam crack a tiny smile, but Steve or whatever the guy’s name is gives him a scolding look and Dean mumbles an apology.  
  
What Dean doesn’t remember is the ride to the hospital, Sam fainting or the guy who’s not called Steve inserting a thin, silver needle into the vein at the inside of the crook of Sammy’s arm. At some point there are bright neon lights and a nurse in a pale blue lab coat and rubber shoes telling him that he would have to wait here until the doctor had taken a look at his brother.  
  
She asks him where their father is, which makes Dean give her an excusing look, and the sadness twinkling in the brown of her eyes is so genuine, Dean finds it very hard not to cry a little more than he already has in the past hour.  
  
Dean doesn’t allow himself to slump down in one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs, which are neatly lined up to either side of the corridor, until his legs are burning from standing in front of the window to the room Sam currently is being examined in. The place where his heart had been beating when he’d seen Sammy is empty again, a cruel reminder.  
  
“Shit,” he whispers, burying his face in his hands and resting his elbows on his knees.  
  
Everything is his fault. If he’d paid better attention to his brother, he would’ve noticed there’s something wrong. If he hadn’t been wallowing in self-pity, he would’ve had the time to talk to Sam. If he’d been able to control himself, Sammy wouldn’t have had to hear all the terrible things he and John had screamed at each other.  
  
If he’d been a better brother, Sammy wouldn’t be unconscious.  
  
Maybe he’d be on a date with Jess or something equally adorable, even though Sam would probably hit Dean if he ever used that word in his presence, or simply skimming through one of his favorite books. The ones Dean bought him from the first money he’d earned in his life.  
  
Somewhere in the middle of an especially dark thought, which only had made him hate himself more in the first place, something vibrates against his thigh and Dean is confused for a moment.  
  
He honestly can’t remember having replaced his phone in his jeans pocket.  
  
Lucky enough, the nurse with those sad, brown eyes had been nice enough to give him a hospital gown he could wear.  
  
Without even taking a look at the phone screen, he answers the call.  
  
“What?” he snaps, trying to hide the anger, the desperation and the fear in his voice, which actually is quite a hard task since he’s pretty much overwhelmed by these emotions. His inner voice shuts up, however, as the person on the other end of the line starts speaking.  
  
 _“Dean...I’m – I’m sorry for calling. I just – I need your help.”_ _  
  
_And all of a sudden, Dean is provided with a gentle electric shock that’s strong enough to give his unplugged stereo heart a new purpose to beat again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are as always appreciated c:


	19. Like Fire And Gasoline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Better times are coming, right? Right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've been waiting to write this chapter for so long, ugh. Also I had a Trojan on my laptop and it took a few days to run all the required scans to finally kill it. Seriously who does that smh. I hope you still like it! c:

"I don't understand," Dean mumbles into the microphone.  
  
The whole situation is so surreal, but here he is, sitting on a chair in a hospital corridor and waiting for his brother to wake up from his unconsciousness, and now the person he expected to hear from the least is on the phone with him, telling him that his help is required.  
  
This honestly has to be a bad dream.  
  
 _"I'm in some, well, some kind of unfortunate situation."_    
  
"Unfortunate situation?" Dean repeats tonelessly, dropping his head back against the white wall, his eyelids slowly drifting shut.  _"Yes, very unfortunate. Actually, I'm - I'm in prison and you need to get me out of here."_ Even though Dean clearly understood the words he's just been told, he asks, "What?"  
  
 _"I'm in prison and I need you to pick me up. I have no one to pay the bail for me."  
  
_ Thoughts are racing through Dean's head, crashing into the walls of his skull and making his entire head throb and tremor, an excruciating rhythm of pain and salvation whenever he inhales. "But-"  
  
But Sammy. But he doesn't have a single dollar with him and somehow needs to pay the hospital bill for his little brother, who's still being examined. But he can't leave Sam alone. But Dean can't afford both the bail  _and_ the hospital bill. But there's no chance for him to get away from here anytime soon, at least not until someone tells him that Sam is okay and will be alright and definitely not until he's talked to him.  
  
 _"Dean, please, my parents are in fucking Germany and really could care less. I don't have their phone number and - Whoa, hey, I know my rights, I am allowed to make this call, okay? - Dean, you know my birthday is in March, I'm not of legal age until then."  
  
_ Birthday. This single words triggers something inside Dean, throws a lever in his brain and makes him remember. "Shit," he mutters under his breath, rubbing his palm across his face and sighing deeply. He totally forgot that Sam's birthday is in less than five days due to hating himself for breaking up with Cas. "I can't, Jamie," Dean mumbles, shaking his head although his friend can't possibly see the desperation written across his features.  
  
 _"Please, Dean, I have no one else to call,"_ sounds Jamie's voice from the other end of the line, small and shy and so not Jamie-like. "Fuck," Dean groans, exhaling loudly.  
  
He needs to think straight, needs to get his thoughts in a correct order. But what is he supposed to do? He doesn't have a single damn clue what to do next. His best friend apparently is in prison and Dean didn't even get to ask why, his little brother is unconscious and in the diagnostic room because he attempted suicide by slitting his wrists in the bathroom next to Dean's bedroom, his asshole of a father has probably left the town and his ex-boyfriend is still his ex-boyfriend.  
  
"I don't have any money," he declares, carding a hand through his already more than messy hair.  
  
 _"That's not the problem, you simply can get the key from under my doormat. There's money in my wallet, you can just take that,"_ Jamie begs. Dean can hear the insecurity in his voice.  
  
"Sam is in the hospital, I can't leave here, man, I'm sorry. I could - wait - maybe I could come pick you up if the nurse says Sammy's okay, but I honestly don't know when or how and if I can do it at all. Shit, Jamie, why the hell are you in prison?"  
  
The following silence is absolute and the only noise filling Dean's ears is the pitter-patter of feet up and down the corridor. And when Jamie finally dares to speak again, his voice sounds nearly apologetic.  
  
 _"I might have gotten into a fight with a cop."  
  
_ A dry snort escapes Dean before he can suppress it; the whole situation is anything but funny after all. "They put you in juvenile prison for that?"  
  
 _"Apparently. So, what's your answer?"  
  
_ It's a plea for help, Dean knows that, and even if Jamie hates admitting it, without Dean, there would be no one to possibly pay the bail for him "How much?" Dean eventually asks.  _"200 dollar, but does - does that mean you're coming?"  
  
_ "Maybe, I need to look after Sammy first, but I promise I'll pay the bail. I'm not gonna let my best friend rot in some weird ass cell, okay?"  
  
 _"Okay. Thank you, Dean, I really owe you one."  
  
_ Dean honestly doesn't feel like smiling, let alone laughing, but he can't help the lopsided smirk appearing on his chapped lips. "Press your ass cheeks together, I'll see if can can make it to you this afternoon. Uh - which prison are you even in?"  
  
 _"117 Dalton Street."  
  
_ Shaking his head slightly, Dean replies, "Oh come on, Lucky Luke," before all of a sudden Jamie interrupts him,  _"Thanks, but I gotta hang up now. I'm counting on you!"  
  
_ Then the line is dead and Dean is only one second away from dashing his phone on the ground hard enough for it to break. If he wants to go and pay the bail for Jamie, he first needs to know whether Sammy will be alright, but the door is still locked and no end of his little brother's examination is in sight. The clock on his phone screen shows a bright  **5:39 am** and Dean silently wonders how time manages to go by so fucking slowly.  
  
Dean doesn't leave his place on the light-blue plastic chair until hours later. A nurse with pinned up, blonde hair tells him to go home and tell his parents about his little brother's condition, but when she sees the pained grimace Dean makes, she simply squeezes his shoulder and attempts to convince him to at least get an hour of sleep or something.  
  
Of course, Dean declines, politely, and insists on waiting for Sam - no matter how long it would take the doctors.  
  
"I admire that," she smiles before rushing down the hallway again.   
  
The first time Dean actually gets up from his chair is when the first rays of sun seep through the thin fabric of the curtains in front of the small window above his head and make his shadow dance across the oppsite wall. For the first time in quite a while, Dean had managed not to think about Cas and the feeling of his lips on his skin and when he does again, he feels worse than before.  
  
Not even the sound of footsteps approaching him can get Dean to lift his head; he's too busy staring at his boots and trying to fill the emptiness in his stomach where once passion had burned like a bonfire in a cool autumn night.   
  
"Mr. Winchester?"  
  
As his head whips up, Dean finds himself staring up at the nurse with those sad, brown eyes. The small, silver nameplate on her lab coat says 'Nora'. "Y-yeah, that's me," he says quickly, almost tripping in his attempt to hastily scramble to his feet.   
  
A small, genuine smile tugs on the corners of his counterpart's mouth. "Your brother - he was in a critical condition," she begins and Dean immediately can feel his heartbeat falter.  _Critical condition? Does that mean he didn't make it? Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, what if she has to tell me - he can't be dead._ "But we've managed to stabilize him. He's over the worst now, the poor boy."  
  
She keeps talking, explains Dean how they'd established a venous access and given Sam a blood transfusion because he apparently lost a lot of blood on their way to the hospital, gestures around with her hands and smiles throughout her monologue.  
  
But Dean can't listen. The only thing counting for him in that very moment is the fact that his little brother is over the hump and alive. "Can - can I see him?" he wants to know, nervously fiddling with the phone in his hands because he doesn't know what the answer will be. They might tell him he'd have to wait until Sammy's awake or that he's still being examined.  
  
"Of course you can, Mr. Winchester," the nurse, however, smiles, "he's asleep, though."  
  
"Doesn't matter, just, please, let me see him."  
  
"This way," she orders and taps his upper arm lightly to guide him towards a small room at the end of the corridor. During the brief walk, Dean notices the lack of people crowding the hallway and the absence of employees scurrying around with clipboards or people in wheelchairs. "Where is everyone?"  
  
"Either asleep or gone home, it's 7 am, Mr. Winchester, there's not much bustle at this time of the day. Well, of course there are exceptions, but today it doesn't seem like there's anyone requiring our help," she chatters cheerfully and slowly opens the door to Sam's room.  
  
"Please try and don't wake him up, he's been through a lot," the nurse instructs Dean as she finally steps aside and reveals a hospital bed with its stereotypical white bedding and the person covered by a thin blanket.   
  
Sam is pale and it seems even more so, now that he's ensheathed by white everywhere. A white hospital gown, white blankets, a white pillow and white walls. His hair literally is taped to his head, out of order and all tangled up. There's something inserted in the vein on the underside of his right arm and as Dean takes a closer look he can tell it's an indwelling venous cannula connected to a tube, which eventually ends in an IV bag filled with a clear fluid.  
  
"And he really is okay?" he wants to know, eyeing over a suspiciously beeping machine next to Sam's bed. His eyes follow three thin wires leading from named machine under the hem of Sam's gown. Dean for some reason bets they could easily send electro shocks through his body if the machine implodes or something equally dangerous.  
  
"Yes, he's just asleep now," the nurse confirmes and announces that she'd leave him now.  
  
Sam's eyes are closed, but as Dean slumps down into the chair, which in comparison to the one he previously sat on really is comfortable, he can hear him breathe steadily.  
  
It's just when Dean has studied his brother's face for as long as it seems fit, that he allows his gaze to dart down at the thick bandages around his wrists. The fact that there's no blood seeping through the white material, yet, probably is a good sign.  
  
At least it's good enough for Dean to smile. But the small movement of muscles in his face is so much of an effort that he lets it die down rather quickly.   
  
Before Dean actually dares to say something, he casts about whether the nurse is doing something weird, like eavesdropping to hear him say something totally sentimental and cheesy. "Hey, Sammy," he eventually whispers and gently strokes the back of Sam's hand with his thumb. Tanned skin against pale, white marble.  
  
"I - Shit, Sammy, don't you ever do that again," he breathes, lowering his head until he can feel his brother's hand make contact with the skin of his forehead.  
  
"You can't just leave me here, you know. This world is going crazy, man, and you're the tiny hint of normality in my life, so - Dammit. You can't even hear me, can you?"  
  
Sam doesn't do anything, he doesn't even move his finger or leg. Of course Dean knows that Sam is not in a coma or something, but he actually had hoped for a reaction at his words. "I forgot your birthday," he therefore keeps talking, just to make the deafening silence vanish, "but I promise you'll have a birthday cake. Fuck the cake, it's gonna be pie."  
  
His brother sighs softly in his sleep and shifts infinitesimally.  
  
"I'm sorry, Sammy, I shouldn't have let you fly under my radar. I'm responsible for you and - goddammit - I've failed you."  
  
Dean's eyes are drawn down to his brother's arm again and he can't help but trace the tiny white flaws standing out from his skin. "Fuck, this is bullshit," he mumbles, "this is fucking bullshit." Sam's scars are surprisingly smooth under Dean's thumb, for some reason he'd expected them to be rough and hurt physically as much seeing them does mentally. "Fuck," Dean curses and quickly withdraws his hand as he notices it trembling.   
  
"It's gonna be okay, you know that, don't you? We can deal with this."  
  
 _Aren't that nearly the same things Cas had said? Why couldn't I be strong for him? Cas.  
  
_ Dean doesn't speak out loudly that he wishes Cas was right beside him, maybe on a chair next to him, maybe standing behind him and resting his hands on Dean's shoulders while he would tell him that everything would be alright. That Sam would heal completely, not only on the outside, but the inside, too.  
  
But Cas isn't here.   
  
He's not in this room, not in the hospital, maybe he's not even in Kansas right now. And Dean knows that it's his fault, his fault alone.  
  
"I'm gonna make it okay, Sammy," he promises, his nails biting into the flesh of his palms.  
  
The only answer he gets is in form of more nerve-wrecking beeps coming from the machine behind him. "Shut up," Dean growls at the ECG.   
  
Three hours later, Dean finds himself glaring at the bandages around Sam's wrists and shuddering at the memory of the slash wounds when he'd found his brother in the bathtub. His thumb has started following the slightly crooked scars on Sam's upper arm again as if he wanted to wipe them away but found himself unable to accomplish it.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Sam," Dean mumbles for what must be the millionth time by now and awkwardly brushes a single strand of hair out of his brother's face, which still is motionless. At some point the blonde nurse returns and tells Dean to go home and sleep once more, but Dean declines again, a little more gruffly than intended.  
  
"I'm sorry," he instantly apologizes, rubbing his cheeks with both hands.  
  
"Oh, no, it's fine, really. I understand that this must be really tough for you," her blue eyes briefly flicker over at Sam, "For both of you."  
  
"Still," Dean insists and circles his shoulders that have started aching from sitting in a bent position for too long, "I shouldn't have overreacted. It's not your fault after all." She flashes a shy smile at him and turns to his brother entirely, "How old is your brother?"  
  
"Fourteen, but it's his birthday in two days and I - I kind of forgot about it."  
  
"Two days?" she makes sure and when Dean nods his silent affirmation, her lips turn from a smile into a tight line. "I'm sorry, but we're gonna have to keep him here for at least three days, so he can talk to the doctors and maybe a therapist, you know?"  
  
"Wait, a therapist? Why?"  
  
As soon as the question is out, Dean wishes he could take it back because he in fact does know why Sam needs a therapist. No one slits his wrists for the fun of it after all. "Yeah, alright," he adds the second as the nurse, who apparently is called Amy, opens her mouth to lecture him.  
  
"Maybe you could invite a few friends here for his birthday," she suggests then, shrugging casually as if it was just a stupid idea. "Hey, that's - that sounds good, I might do that," Dean tells her, though he's not sure who to call.   
  
Probably he'd end up calling Jess and staring at his phone screen for hours, contemplating whether to invite Cas for the sake of his little brother or not. "It's gonna be a small party, though," he explains as Amy raises an eyebrow at him.  
  
Just when she's about to reply, Sam's pointer finger gives a weak twitch.  
  
"Sam!" Dean exclaims, the woman in the lab coat totally forgotten. "Hey, Sammy, hey, hey," he mutters as he watches his little brother open his eyes drowsily and blink up at him in confusion.  
  
"Am - am I dead?" is the first thing Sam gets out and it makes Dean's stomach clench. But it's not the good way, it's the way that tells him his little brother certainly had a reason to attempt suicide. "No, Sam, you're alive," he tells him, massaging his own forehead, while Sam tries to sit up.  
  
"Where.." Sam begins, but is interrupted by a pained cough that seems to steal all air out of his lungs.  
  
"You're in the hospital, Sammy," Dean whispers, biting down on his lip not to tear up at the view of Sam staring down at his wrists and having disappointment clearly written across his face. "Oh," is the only reaction Dean gets.  
  
His little brother brushes his thumb absently over an especially long scar on the inside of his upper arm. "Why?" he asks then, "Why did you have to save me?"  
  
Those few words manage to render Dean speechless for several seconds and even Amy, who obviously still hasn't left the room, lets out an audible gasp. "I was ready to go, Dean," Sam murmurs, brown eyes wandering through the room and lingering on the tube connected to his arm.  
  
"Well, I wasn't ready to fucking let you," Dean bursts out, turning his palms upwards.  
  
"You are fourteen years old, Sammy, godfuckingdammit, and you are not gonna die. Not under my watch, you hear that?"  
  
But Sam just turns his head away and avoids making eye contact with his older brother, a faint pink staining the white of his cheeks.  
  
"Christ, I - I wish - I'm sorry," Dean eventually says and that's when Sam starts crying.  
  
"I didn't want to make you angry, Dean," he chokes out, fingers curling around the white fabric of his sheets and holding onto it tightly. "Please don't hate me." Tears drip from his face onto his hospital gown and arms, running down to the crook of them until they seep into the bedding.  
  
"Sammy, why - I don't hate you."  
  
"They said my family was not a real one because I don't have a mother, Dean, because you picked me up from school and because Dad never went to any parent conference days," Sam starts babbling. Dean can hear Amy leave the room and quietly close the door behind her back, but he can't be bothered to react to that.  
  
"What do you mean? Who said that? When?"  
  
"I was five years old when Mike said that you were gay because you were my mother replacement," Sam keeps on talking, wiping his hand across his watering eyes.  
  
That name makes a bell inside Dean's head ring. "Mike from elementary school? The fat boy who had nine fingers because he wanted to stick his hand into a mixer and make minced meat?"  
  
A weak grin flickers over Sammy's face, but it's gone as quickly as it appeared. "Exactly. I can't remember a day, a single day, Dean, that I didn't get bullied for who I am. For my broken family. And I know that you would have - uh - ripped their lungs out if I'd told you." He starts rubbing the scar closest to his bandage, a thick, white line that stands out from the others.  
  
"But, Sam, I...," Dean mumbles helplessly, trying to find the right words.   
  
"I know that you've stolen food more than just once, Dean, and I know that you tried to get Ellen to let you work at her bar when you were just ten years old, okay? I know it, and it's all my fault." Now, Sam is outright sobbing, shoulders trembling with the effort of getting his voice under control at least the slightest.  
  
"Because I've been too small to do anything useful. And you always,  _always,_ stood up for me and took the beating when Dad came home, Dean, and I feel so guilty. I've never been as strong as you are, I would've caved in under the terrible things he did to you, but you? I haven't seen you cry ever since the day Mom died."  
  
"Sammy," Dean whispers, squeezing his little brother's hand hard.  
  
"I couldn't stand it, Dean, watch you just take everything. And I couldn't even help you because -"  
  
That's when Dean interrupts, "You are my little brother, Sammy, of course I did it. I would die for you, don't you know that? Because I would do it without a second of hesitation, so don't you ever think you're guilty of anything here." There are still tears in Sam's eyes, making them shimmer, but at least his brother has stopped shaking.  
  
"It hurt to see all that. And it hurt to see everyone with their stupid storybook-families," Sam strikes a blow at the sheets, "and it hurt to see my thirteen-year old big brother collect money. Not for weird records or all that, no, Dean, you've been collecting money for our  _gas bills._ I remember them piling on our counter, you know, but that pile shrunk. Because of what you've done for me, for John, for our family."  
  
Dean can't breathe, how does Sammy remember that?  
  
"We've never been a real family, Dean, I know that, not with John. But you've been my brother through all the shit that life threw at us and - and if you're ever - you've been kind of a father for me as well. You taught me how to play football when I was seven. Do you remember the one time you came to my room with a birthday cake with actual candles on it and told me you were making up for the previous year?"   
  
Dean's voice is breathy as he says, "Yeah, I remember."  
  
"I never got you anything for your birthday," Sam frowns and angrily stares at his bandages as if he wished they were gone and his cuts gaping open again.  
  
"That's not true, Sammy!" Dean argues and hastily undoes the first button of his gown to show Sam the small amulet dangling from a leather string. "That was a Christmas present," his brother says flatly and gestures Dean to stop talking.   
  
"What's the difference, Sam?"  
  
The machine next to his brother's bed suddenly starts beeping erratically, Sam's pulse must have increased significantly. "The difference is that every Christmas there was a tree in the living room with presents with my name under it and there never was one for you. And when I asked you about it, you said you'd opened them already, but that was a lie. Shit, Dean, I hate my life!"  
  
"Sammy, I-"  
  
"No!" Sam shouts, screwing his eyes shut.  
  
"Please, I just-"  
  
"No, I don't want to hear it!"  
  
For an agonizingly long moment the noises of the ECG are the only sound in the tension-filled room, but they start slowing down. "I'm sorry," Sam mumbles apologetically.  
  
Dean simply shakes his head and wants to squeeze his brother's arm reassuringly, but then he remembers the scars and wounds and freezes mid-motion. "Sam, I saved you because you're the only one who means something to me," Dean raises a finger to prevent Sam, who already has opened his mouth to object, from saying anything, "that I haven't lost."  
  
Sam slowly closes his mouth again. He can't refute that.  
  
The only people Dean has ever truly loved and cared about are his mother, who's dead, his father, who's drunk and the worst person Dean knows, and Cas, who he's lost to his anxiety and self-hatred.  
  
"I didn't want to hurt you," Sam suddenly states and his brown eyes sweep up at Dean's. "I know, Sammy, I know," Dean says softly and leans forward to briefly hug his little brother. For a second, Sam's shoulders are tense and he stiffens at his brother's sudden embrace, eventually, however, relaxes into Dean's chest and allows his head to rest on his broad shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Dean," he murmurs again and lets out a drawn-out breath.  
  
"I know," Dean repeats and closes his eyes for just a blink because - shit - Sam is alive.  
  
As he pulls away after what feels like a millenium, Dean says, "Don't you ever do that again, you hear me? Because if you do - I don't know what I would - just fucking don't do it again." Sam lowers his gaze guiltily and nods slowly, apologizing time after time.   
  
"Dont," Dean at some point interrupts and raises a hand to underline his order.  
  
His brother nods again and chews lightly on his bottom lip. "What is it, Sam?" Dean wants to know, immediately alarmed. "Do you think I maybe could get something to eat?"  
  
A relieved laugh makes its way out of Dean's throat and fills the room, loud enough for Sam to eventually join him, even though his laugh is more of a pained cackle. "I'm gonna go and find a nurse, alright, you stay here, buddy."  
  
Sam rolls his eyes, "Where would I go?"  
  
And because Dean is lacking a witty reply, he leaves the room to look for Amy or Nora or just anyone.  
  
Sooner than expected he finds an employee with short, black hair, who is more than willing to bring Sam breakfast. "I will be there in about ten minutes," he assures Dean, gives him a small smirk and marches off, down the hallway. After taking a few steps, the black-haired man reaches out and pushes a forgotten wheeled hospital bed along as he goes. When he turns around and winks, Dean realizes he's let his eyes follow the other man's back.  
  
Dean quickly returns to Sam's room, knitting his brows in slight confusion and annoyance. How the hell did he not notice he's been staring at that caretaker? It's not like was looking for a special someone; he knew exactly who he wanted to be with. And that was Cas without doubt.  
  
No one else could possibly fix him.  
  
"Breakfast's on the way," he announces cheerfully and maybe he goes a little over the top with the fake happiness because Sam narrows his eyes and cocks a thin brow at him. "Don't look at me like that."  
  
But Sam continues staring at him, eyes boring into his forehead as if he was trying to drill a hole into his bones. "What?" Dean asks after ten more seconds of intense, suspicious glaring.  
  
"You - there's a little something. Right on your neck," Sam whispers, waving his hand vaguely at his big brother.  
  
As Dean brings his hand up to his neck and brushes the tips of his fingers over the skin there, he freezes. There's something dry and crusty that flakes off when he starts rubbing. Slowly, he moves his eyes down to his palm. It is exactly what Dean had been afraid it could be.   
  
"Oh." He swallows heavily and excuses himself with a pressed out apology to the bathrooms.  
  
His reflection shows Dean a pale face with wide, green eyes that look almost timidly back at him. The usually styled light-brown hair on his head now is a complete mess and a few strands are standing out in the wrong direction, but he can't get himself to care. All he right now cares about is washing the dried blood off his neck and scraping it away from under his fingernails.  
  
This is his little brother's blood on his hands. Literally.  
  
And it hurts more than Dean thought it could. But the cool water manages to wash not only the blood, but a bit of Dean's tension away, too.  
  
By the time he returns to Sam, his brother is balancing a dinner tray with all sorts of food and juices on his knees, taking small bites of a ham-and-cheese-sandwich. "Sorry," Dean says as he sits down on the chair again. "Nah," Sam muches around a mouthful of food.  
  
"Wow, Sammy, that's just disgusting," Dean complains and pulls an unhappy face.  
  
He's still feeling slightly sick from the blood on his hands and, to be honest, his brother's eating manners aren't really helping him to feel better.   
  
The black-haired caretaker checks in on Sam about half an hour later, carefully peering into the room first and as Dean nods encouragingly, he steps in, greeting both Winchesters equally friendly, though Dean can feel the other man's eyes lingering on him for just a little bit too long. Even Sam notices Dean's bashfulness, he gives the man, whose nameplate reads 'Noel', a weird look.  
  
"Everything okay?" Noel asks, smiling a polite smile at Sam, who simply shrugs it off.   
  
"I wanted to kill myself and now I'm not dead, so, yeah, I'm pretty fucking  _great._ "  
  
The words feel like a punch right to Dean's stomach and he can't stop the surprised, choked out noise leaving his lips and hovering in the air for several moments. Shaking his head, Dean turns away and bites down on his knuckles like a last attempt to seem stronger than he actually is.  
  
"I was so close to finally - you know what? Nevermind," Sam hisses and covers his face with one hand, but Dean can still hear him start crying again.  
  
"I'm sorry," Noel mutters and darts Dean a hesitant glance, shrugging helplessly. Dean doesn't react, though, he blankly stares at the ground, which had started spinning in front of his eyes.   
  
Sam doesn't speak again after Noel leaves the room with his tray, and Dean doesn't try to get him to. He's afraid what would come out of his little brother's mouth, what he'd say to make Dean remember than he in fact doesn't even want to sit here in this hospital bed but rather lie in a coffin. At some point, Dean leaves the room to call Jess and ask her whether she could come and visit Sam. She promises she'd be there in fifteen minutes.  
  
Dean has never been more grateful for that girl.  
  
On occasion he probably should thank her and tell Sam how lucky he actually is because even if they're still quite young, Dean bets she's good for his little brother.  
  
"Sam," he starts as he enters the room again.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Where are the blades?" Dean asks, forcing the words out as if they actually were the razor blades that slitted Sam's wrists. Wide eyes stare up at him, aimlessly roaming over his face, before Sam answers, "I think they went down the drain." Dean stays quiet, just looks at his younger brother. "There  - I have two under my mattress," Sam confesses weakly, shaking his head.  
  
Pressing his lips together, Dean nods once and taps his fingers against the bedframe in a slow rhythm. "I just talked to a nurse and a doctor will come and talk to you in a few. I need to get a couple of things from home and do...something. Are you okay with me leaving for a few hours? It's not gonna take that long. I promise I'll hurry up, Sammy."  
  
"Sure," Sam grumbles and tugs on the bandage around his right wrists.  
  
When he notices his big brother's concerned expression, he explains, "It kinda itches." As though wanting to prove it, he scratches the underside of his forearm, thin red lines left behind on white and even whiter skin. "I'll be back soon," Dean promises as he steps right next to Sam's hospital bed and wraps his arms around him.  
  
He can feel Sam's breath on his shoulder and he can hear him shift under the covers, showing that he still is alive, but Dean tells his little brother that he loves him for the first time since they'd been five and nine years old. Saying these words to someone, someone apart from Cas, feels weird, but not in a bad way.  
  
The puzzled expression doesn't disappear from Sam's face until the door clunks shut behind his older brother's back and the tears start spilling again.   
  
"Getting some sleep?" Nora asks as she passes him by on the corridor.   
  
Dean shakes his head, flashing a crooked grin, "Getting a friend out of prison."  
  
The way home would've been way shorter and way less exhausting if someone would've reacted to Dean's raised thumb as he'd strolled down the sidewalk. His feet are tired and feeling sore and his eyelids aren't any better. The hospital gown is a little tight around his shoulders, stretching over his muscles and reminding him that he probably must be looking like someone who'd escaped from a psychiatry or something.  
  
At that thought, he actually manages a small smile.  
  
 _I love you, too. Need you, Cas. Yes, I know, I love you, too, Dean.  
  
You are in love with Cas. Thanks, captain Obvious!  
  
_ _I don't know what you've done to me, but don't stop doing it. I love you. Stay? You're so fucking beautiful. I love you, too. As long as you'll have me. Alexithymia. I love you I love you I love you I love you._

 _Thank you, Cas. I need you. I need you, too. Cas. Good morning, good night. Hey, Cas? Yeah? I love you.  
  
_ Castiel starts speaking in the back of his head again, sending arrows like icicles to pierce through Dean's heart, and makes breathing incredibly hard.  
  
 _Because I kind of pictured myself with Cas in a few years from now and if that doesn't answer your question, then I don't have any idea how to explain it,_ he remembers saying to Michael. Now, where are the fancy fridges, the navy blue covers and the photo albums, that still aren't showing Cas and him?  
  
Where did the daydreams about moving in together go?  
  
Where did  _they_ go?  
  
Only because he manages to think of bloody blades under his little brother's mattress, Dean can push Castiel to the back of his mind, though the gravelly voice, that shakes him straight to his bones, promises to be back really soon. And Dean already is afraid of what he might do when that 'really soon' is.  
  
As he turns into Oak Tree Lane after approximately an hour of half jogging-half walking, Dean finds the space where the grey Volvo of his father used to park empty. It's not exactly that he'd actually expected John to have returned, but the knowledge that he'd preferred to leave their lives instead of meeting his responsibilities as a father for once still hurts.   
  
Even after all this time.  
  
Maybe if Dean grew up in a rich family with five flat-screen TVs, various MacBooks and an X-Box over the place, he'd be concerned when he notices the front door being ajar, but since he didn't, he simply groans at the pair of ragged boots peeking out.  
  
"Oh, come on!"  
  
With an exasperated sigh, Dean proceeds to drag the homeless dude away from the threshold. "Dean?" the man to his feet grumbles as he lets go of his legs. "Billy?"  
  
The other man's thick brows rise in surprise and the thin lines around Billy's eyes deepen as he smiles broadly at Dean, showing a few missing teeth. "Lookin' good," he chuckles after raking his eyes briefly over Dean. "Want something to eat or drink?" Dean offers, already stepping inside and letting his eyes sweep through the kitchen. Before he goes upstairs, though, he gives Billy permission to simply make himself at home since the lack of another few slices of cheese or a single bottle of something wouldn't make a decisive difference.  
  
"Thank you, you're a good man, Dean," he can hear Billy shout after him.  
  
On his way upstairs, he thinks back to when he first met the older guy. It had been a cold November day and Dean remembers he'd been waiting in front of the supermarket. He hadn't wanted to shoplift, tried to put off the evil hour and frozen because he didn't have a proper coat.  
  
At some point, he'd given in to the snowflakes steadily tumbling from the dark sky and wanted to finally do it and quickly get back home to Sammy. That's when Billy had stepped in, pulled him aside and given him a five dollar note.  
  
At first Dean had simply been grateful, but when he'd noticed the man's bare feet, his stomach had turned. "Take it, kiddo, I know what you wanted to do," Billy had said and shoved him towards the entrance. Dean had been able to buy cup noodles for Sammy that day and ever since, he'd given Billy as much money as he could afford because Billy is simply great.  
  
What definitely isn't great is the view of small bloodstains all over the stairs, the floor and even the lower area of the walls. The image burns itself into Dean's retina and forever is stored in his mind, right beneath the pictures of Sammy's bleeding wrists, the bloodstained water going down the drain and other terrible things.  
  
It takes Dean longer than expected to push what's left of the bathroom door open and as he finally takes in the bathtub and the blue tiled wall, which now is dotted with red sprinkles, he wishes he would've stayed out.   
  
"Fuck," Dean breathes, picking up the shower head with trembling hands and turning on the water.  
  
The cool shower spray slowly begins to wash away the last evidences of what has happened not even a day ago in this room, rinses the lifeless objects from drops of Sam's life.  
  
There's more than just one stain that simply won't go away completely, so Dean has to use a towel and soap to scrub it away since they're lacking cream cleanser or something equally helpful. "Shit, this is just," Dean coughs as he trolls a thin blade, which got wedged in the drain, out of the sluice, "bullshit."  
  
"Oh God."  
  
The small piece of metal is heavy in his hand and Dean tosses is in the bin as if it had burned him.  
  
After cleaning the bathroom as quickly as he's able to considering he has to supress his gag reflex at a few points, Dean moves on to Sam's bedroom. As predicted there are two more blades hidden under the mattress, but they look like they'd never been used.  
  
Dean honestly doesn't know whether to cry or laugh.  
  
He's damn near fleeing from his little brother's room once he's made sure there are no more hidden objects Sam could hurt himself with. But even though Dean is positive Sam's room is clean now, it feels odd, like something has ruined the house, made its facade crack and let the pain and tears seep out into the sunlight.  
  
About half an hour later, however, Dean finds himself sitting in his baby's driver's seat, both hands on the steering wheel and revving the engine to make the Impala pass the traffic light while it's still green. Jamie's wallet and the desired amount of money are keeping him company, displayed on the dashboard of his car. The key to the McRaggers' house had been hidden under the doormat, just like Jamie'd promised him on the phone.   
  
"Dalton Street, Dalton Street," Dean voices under his breath, glancing to either side of him and reading the roadsigns as they pass him by.  
  
The song on the radio is familiar, something about love, something about pain, but it doesn't sound the same. Not with nausea flooding his stomach and a headache blooming behind his eyelids. He's been awake for too long for it to be healthy. Dean's empty stomach is still growling when he grinds the car to a sudden halt in front of a huge, dark concrete building that looks just as uninviting as the 'Kansas Juvenile Prison' written in bold, orange letters on a sign next to the entrance.  
  
"Just pay the bail and then get the hell away," Dean mutters angrily as he stomps up the stairs to the building.  
  
All he knows about prisons is that there are bad guys locked up in cells and usually there's a really hot guard leading them around and  - No. He's confusing reality with porn. But he definitely gained his entire knowledge about prisons and their inmates from TV.   
  
Therefore he's more than surprised to find himself stepping into an entrance hall with beige walls that make a harsh contrast to the cool exterior walls. "I'm here to pay the bail for Jamie Charles McRagger," Dean exclaims, trying to get someone to pay attention to him.  
  
He's never had someone to show him what to do in this case, so he simply re-enacts the scene from a movie he used to watch as a kid, a blanket wrapped around his and Sammy's shoulders. They'd drink hot chocolate and Dean would cover his little brother's eyes during the kissing scenes.  
  
"I'm here to," he mutters, quietly this time, as a thirty-something year old dude saunters around the corner and stands stiffly in front of him, "pay the bail for Jamie McRagger."   
  
His counterpart gives him a suspicious look, eyes studying his face before moving down to the hand tightly clutching Jamie's wallet. "Jamie Mc-who?" he eventually asks, squaring his shoulders that are tensing visibly under the dark blue fabric of his uniform. "Ragger," Dean repeats his best friend's name.  
  
It takes the other man a few seconds, in which he stares at something behind Dean's back, to respond. "Oh."  
  
For some reason Dean had believed he'd simply walk in there, hand a girl behind some kind of counter a few dollar bills, wait for Jamie until he'd put on his normal clothes again and could leave. A dude dumbly beaming at him and making unnerving tapping noises with his foot definitely hadn't been part of the plan. At all.   
  
"I have the money," Dean points out, waving the wallet in the other man's face.  
  
But Chip, as the silly nameplate on his uniform says, simply keeps his eyes fixed on what probably is the huge entrance door behind Dean's back. "Excuse me?" Not even that gets so much as a reaction from Chip, he blinks slowly and sighs.  
  
Five actual minutes pass, the clock hanging on one of the walls telling Dean it's 4:40 in the afternoon, before Chip suddenly moves as if he'd just woken up from an eternal sleep. "The bail for Mr. McRagger, of course," he chatters and slaps Dean's shoulder enthusiastically.  
  
The thought "I've been saying that about a billion times" doesn't leave Dean's mouth.  
  
Both men are about five steps down the hallway, Dean already can spot Jamie sitting on a wooden chair with handcuffs around his wrists and starts wondering why he's not in a cell or something like that, as the entrance door is pushed open once more.  
  
Dean doesn't turn around, instead he attempts to catch a glimpse at his best friend's eyes, but they stay where they are cast down at the linoleum floor to his feet. Behind his back there are heavy footsteps, someone coughing. "Good afternoon, sir, are you here to visit someone?" a lady's voice sounds then.  
  
"No, I'm here to pay a bail. For, uhm," there's a quiet rustle as a paper is unfolded, "Jamie Charles McRagger?"  
  
Life ends. Dean is pretty sure he can hear the light bulb above his head burst and see sparks flying through the air, little golden dots that would explain the diziness that suddenly has settled in his head, trying to make his knees collapse. This can't be happening.  
  
"Oh, I'm sure he's-"  
  
"No," a male voice suddenly breathes, utterly shocked, and Dean simply is transfixed. Not a single muscle is obeying, his legs feel more like jelly-sticks and he's kind of surprised he's still standing upright.  
  
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Dean manages to turn around.  
  
"Cas."  
  
"Dean, what are...," Castiel begins, widening his blue eyes at him and Dean actually thinks somewhere in there is a bit of hope, trying to surface from under all the disappointment and anger, pain and confusion. "What are you doing here?" he finally gets out, his fingers twitching and making the paper with Jamie's name on is crumple up.  
  
Words won't come, so Dean helplessly shrugs and finds himself unable to drop his gaze, green eyes are locked with blue ones in a second of silence.   
  
"Paying the bail?" he excuses himself.  
  
When Cas doesn't react apart from knitting his brows and opening and closing his mouth several times without actually saying anything, Jamie gets up.   
  
"Uh, thanks, Chip," Dean's best friend mumbles before slipping out of the handcuffs with ease, tossing them onto the chair beside him. Chip grumbles something Dean doesn't listen to and then Jamie's standing between Cas and him, clearing his throat and waving one hand as though announcing he'd start speaking just any second.   
  
"I wasn't actually arrested," he begins hesitantly, taking off his cap and twirling it nervously in his hands, "and neither of you would've had to pay a bail for me."  
  
"But you got into a fight with the cops," Dean interrupts just as Cas says, "But you got caught with drugs."  
  
Jamie scrunches up his face and shrugs, "Not exactly. Okay, to sum everything up: I couldn't stand seeing you like that, Dean, so I had to do something, alright? I didn't know what to do and, Mr. Novak, Castiel, whatever, I'm sorry for lying, but-"  
  
"I can't," Cas mutters quietly, shaking his head repeatedly, but his eyes still are trying to figure out whether Dean is involved in the whole thing, "I need to leave."  
  
The words leave Dean numb behind, crashing down on him like a tsunami tide and knocking him off his feet, and he has to fight not to drown but to stay afloat because Cas' eyes are no longer the still waters they used to be.   
  
"Did you know that John has abused Dean?" Jamie suddenly blurts out.  
  
Silence descends over the entrance hall and while Dean sucks in a breath to deal with Jamie's forthrightness, Castiel's eyes narrow until they stare at Dean with what looks like a mix of concern and sadness. "No, I didn't," he eventually rasps, "he never told me."  
  
Dean wants to apologize, but before he can even open his mouth, Cas continues, "I'd say I'm sorry, but would it matter? Would it make a difference? Would me saying sorry make time rewind and give me the opportunity to fix everything that's gone wrong?"  
  
Jamie seems to be stumped for an answer, simply squeezes his cap tighter, and Dean can feel his chest heave with the urge to get his breathing under control again. "Cas," he starts, raising his hand as if he wanted to take a few steps and touch him. Just a brush of skin on skin, nothing more. Just reassurance that what they had is still somewhere, maybe a little shattered but not broken.   
  
Castiel doesn't move for a long time, he appears to be preoccupied in thoughts when all of a sudden he turns on his heel and slowly makes his way to the entrance door, mumbling, "No," over and over again.   
  
"Dean," Jamie pleads and that's when something inside Dean snaps.   
  
"Cas!" he shouts and finally his brain starts working, leading his body past Jamie and towards Cas, step after step until he's all but running. "Cas!"   
  
Slender fingers wrap around the door handle, ready to push.  
  
"Cas!"  
  
The hinges creak quietly as the tiniest bit of pressure is added to the door and the sunlight begins to illuminate the floor around Castiel's shoes, reflecting on the banister rail outside. Dean can see that from where he's come to a halt just a few steps behind Cas.  
  
"Please," he whispers.  
  
Castiel pushes the door open entirely.  
  
"Cas, I love you."  
  
Slowly, the door clunks shut and the sound probably will resonate in Dean's head for a long while, but the only thing that matters right now is the man who stayed inside the building despite having the opportunity to leave.  
  
"Then why, Dean?" Castiel wants to know, not turning around.  
  
 _Or maybe it's me. Maybe I can't handle it. I just fucking flinched away from you, Cas, from you. I trust you and that's what I do? I will ruin you, Cas, I would ruin us just like my father ruined me. I can't give you what you deserve and I'm so sorry.  
  
_ The answer is already resting on the tip of Dean's tongue, he can taste the bitterness, the frustration and the hate, but something makes him hesitate. He can remember watching Castiel cry in his car, something he'll never forget, and Dean also suddenly is reminded of everything Cas had said to him that day. That they could fix everything, that they could handle it. But what now?   
  
"I told you that my father hated me, you knew it wasn't easy and if I say that I don't want it to sound like an accusation or anything, Cas, and-"  
  
"You told me he hated you and you think that makes me immediately know everything about you, Dean? Like the fact that he traumatized you in more than just one way or all the other things you probably have hidden from me? How am I supposed to know anything at all when you don't talk to me?" Castiel angrily presses out, finally whipping around to glare at Dean.  
  
There's anger shining in Cas' eyes and Dean wishes he'd said something else first. He should've apologized properly and given Castiel a chance to back out, but now they're both trapped.  
  
"I called you, Dean. So many times, but you never answered."  
  
Dean can feel his stomach droop and it never stops falling down, down until there's no space left.  "I know," he whispers. "You don't trust me," Castiel mumbles tonelessly, "you - after all - Why don't you trust me, Dean? What have I done wrong?"  
  
"I trust you, I just," waving his hands, Dean desperately searches for the right words to say, "I was scared of what I might say if I picked up the phone."  
  
A sad laugh tumbles from Castiel's lips and he shakes his head in disbelief. "Everything would have been better than what you've done to me. What's the worst thing you could've said? What?" It's a challenge, Dean can tell without doubt, and he is not sure whether he's ready to accept it or prove Jamie he's always been right and run away.  
  
Castiel's eyes make the decision for him.  
  
"I don't get close to people because at some point it's just not enough, at some point they keep digging and digging until it's too much for me. You never did that, Cas, never did something I didn't like or said the wrong things. I let you get too close and what happened? Exactly, I messed it up. And that's why," Dean exhales slowly, trying to calm himself down, "that's why I don't want to get close to anyone. But you just - I don't know - changed it."  
  
"Then why didn't you let me fix it?" Cas exclaims, shrugging his shoulders feebly as if moving was too much of an effort.   
  
 _The flames are painting the sky a dirty orange, smoke suffices to let clouds appear in the starry atmosphere and Sam's cries mix with the noisy sirens. His own ears are ringing and his hands are both full, one holding Sammy's, the other one fisted in his blanket.  
  
_ _Men came and brought them home, told them there is a fire, said they were sorry. John is talking to a firefighter, screaming at him and jabbing his pointer finger at what's left of the house. Dean doesn't cry, he simply promises Sammy that everything will be okay.  
  
_ "Because - if you're gasoline, Cas, then I'm fucking fire! It would burn everything we could possibly build to the ground and leave behind a mess. I'd have to watch it explode, watch... _us_ explode."  
  
Castiel sighs, "Isn't it up to me whether I mind getting burned?"  
  
Beautiful words coming from those wonderful lips reach Dean's ears and make him feel sick; why does Cas say things like this? Only when Dean realizes that at some point he's started biting down on his lip, he notices the tears. Slowly, they are rolling down his cheeks, catching at the alas of his nose.  
  
"I didn't want that, Cas," he forces out, crossing his arms over his chest, even though he doesn't know why. To protect himself? But from what? The only one hurting anyone right now is him and not Cas. Never Cas.  
  
Castiel closes his eyes, taking a step back, and nods quietly. Looking at Dean apparently has to be unbearably hard, but he can understand because if the whole thing is only half as bad for Cas as it is for him, he knows how much it must hurt. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."  
  
"But  _why,_ Dean?" Cas sounds so broken, close to tears. It's like his entire self-control is dangling from a single string that now is about to tear.  
  
Nothing comes out as Dean opens his mouth to tell Cas that he only had been trying to protect him, which had turned out to be a fucking stupid idea, that he did it because he loved him.   
  
Jamie is nowhere to be seen, the entrance hall is totally quiet apart from Dean's silent crying and Castiel's steady breathing. "I had to shoplift since I was seven years old to feed my little brother," Dean eventually starts talking, "and I did everything - everything I could to get us out of this misery, but it was never enough. Never did I even get so much as a 'Thank you, Dean' or a 'Good job, Dean' from my dad, he just expected me to do all that. And I'm not asking you to pity me because, believe me, I got enough pity over the last few years, but I want you to know that when you - you say thank you for the most stupid things!"  
  
Castiel draws his brows together in incomprehension, looking slightly attacked.  
  
"After dinner with Michael," Dean continues and Cas flinches at the mention of his older brother, the anger in his eyes vanishing and turning into desperation, "you said thank you and I didn't even get it. I do now, though. Maybe - maybe if John had been sober - I just wanted to be happy."  
  
"Dean, you have to move out," Castiel whispers, but his words are swallowed by the sentences that simply keep spilling like waterfalls from Dean's mouth.   
  
"I meant what I said, Cas, I can't give you what you deserve, but I've been willing to try and, God, I was trying. Jamie told me I'd rather run away than face my problems and in the end he was right, I ran away from what made me happy the most and I'm such an idiot."  
  
The expression on Cas' face softens, the angry, hard line around his mouth is smoothed out all of a sudden.  
  
"Please, Dean, you need to get away from there."  
  
"My whole life people have been trying to tell me that I'm not good enough for anything or anyone, but  _you,_ you made me hate myself not quite as much and when all that shit came down at home and John relapsed and was screaming at you, I've just been trying to protect you. Shit, Cas, I don't know why I pushed you away! All I know is that I'd give anything to take it back."  
  
Dean presses his palm over his eyes, trying to hide the last tears that are welling up again, and leans against the wall with a shaking sigh.  
  
This is not what he'd wanted to do, he didn't expect to see Cas ever again and maybe now he's given the chance to make things better. At least a little. "And then Sam wanted to kill himself," Dean hears himself babble, unable to contain himself, "I found him when it almost had been too late."  
  
All color disappears from Castiel's cheeks, he pales and sucks in a surprised breath, elegant, beautiful hands twitching uneasily at his sides.  
  
"He said he felt guilty, Cas! If I'd taken care of him, I mean, if I hadn't been so selfish - oh God, I almost lost him. Jesus," he breathes, smearing his hand across his face and gracefully spreading a streak of snot over his lips. "I've been so consumed by hating John for what he did to me that I didn't notice he was hurting Sammy, too, maybe even worse and I-"  
  
"Dean!" Cas suddenly shouts, stepping forward into his personal space and grabbing his shoulders tightly. "Listen to me, Dean!"  
  
Blinking at Castiel in confusion, Dean sways slightly as the other man shakes him. "Did you hear what I said? You need to get away from your father, Dean."  
  
"How?" Dean laughs dryly, lifting his shoulders helplessly, "I can't move out. I have no one to go to and I need to take Sammy with me. Oh God, he's still in the hospital - I need to call him, what if he's fainted? I don't think the nurses have my phone number."  
  
"Move in with me," Cas mutters, fingers sliding off Dean's shoulders and returning to their place beside his body, "I don't know what's going to happen, but please, Dean."  
  
Too concerned about Sammy to listen to what exactly Cas had said, Dean searches his jeans pocket for his phone just to find it missing. "Shit," he curses, wiping his hand over his eyes once more.  
  
"Dean."  
  
"What?" he snaps, eyes sweeping up at the man standing in front of him and in an instant Dean is reminded of what has made him fall in love in the first place. "What?" he repeats therefore, letting his voice sound softer, more gentle, as if he was trying to make everything okay just by saying one word.  
  
"Move in with me."  
  
Dean's mouth falls slack, he can't believe his own ears. If Cas means it and he would actually have the guts to simply get Sam and their stuff and move in with Castiel...then what? Would they pretend there never has been anything between them? Ignore the unspoken promises they'd given each other behind pillows and on foggy summer nights? Would they simply live their own lives and treat each other like room mates?  
  
Or would they be able to sort things out and manage to create something beautiful without destroying it?  
  
"What?" Dean mumbles once more, trying to force his voice to sound at least not completely wrecked.  
  
"I need you and Sam to move in with me."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are some things confusing you, don't worry bc I'm planning on explaining them in the next chapter!  
> Did you like it? c:


	20. Taking Chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry the update took so long once again, but school's being a bitch (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻ (Typos are mine :c)

For just a second Dean allows himself to indulge in the guilty pleasure that is dreaming about how moving in together would've been under other circumstances. He lets his thoughts drift back in time to when he and Cas had been casting each other quick glances over their breakfast and remembers the way Cas would let his fingertips dance over the thin handle of his cup.  
  
"Move in with you," Dean repeats, swallowing down the bitter taste the words leave on his tongue.  
  
Castiel allusively shrugs one shoulder. "Yes, I think that would be much more convenient for Sam and - and you, Dean," he explains, slowly withdrawing himself from Dean's reach. "And why would you do that?" Dean asks, shoulders sinking under the weight of the cognition that things probably won't ever be the same.  
  
"Because," his counterpart declares as if that one single word would tell Dean everything that was going on in his mind, as if it was enough to defeat the grief hanging heavily in the air.  
  
The image of Castiel's kitchen suddenly flashes up behind Dean's eyelids, clean and pure, and he can't help but think of the few times he and Cas actually had been cooking together without getting distracted, without Cas' hand suddenly on the small of his back and pressing their bodies together, making the temperature increase.  
  
He thinks of the few days Cas had taken care of him when a fever had been raging inside him and the broken glass as Cas' arms had embraced him, trapped him, because he hadn't been willing to say goodbye. But now?  
  
"We can't, no, _I_  can't ask you to do that," Dean mumbles and shifts uncomfortably.   
  
"You're not asking, Dean, I'm offering. That's a difference," Castiel sternly answers, wiping Dean's argument away as if it never even had existed. "We still need to pay off our debts, John borrowed money to buy the house, so," he leaves the sentence unfinished, flawed.  
  
"Dean," Cas says then and Dean's name falls off his lips so easily, so blithely, it makes him cringe. Even Cas notices the familiarity and hesitates for a second before going on, "If you stay at this place, even with Sam, you'll get hurt and - No, don't say anything - I know that maybe we can't fix everything, but-" His voice cracks and Dean can tell he's only barely holding onto that thin string of control he's got left.   
  
"I know," Dean whispers and nods slowly.  
  
"No, Dean, you don't know."  
  
When Cas acknowledges Dean with a glare that's probably meant to be angry, he can't find that anger in his eyes, just a cruel mixture of pain, sadness and loss. "You don't know what it feels like to get pushed away by someone you love when you expect it the least," Castiel continues, turning his head away from Dean, "and you don't know what it is like to ask yourself what you've done wrong to deserve that kind of reaction when all you wanted to do was help. And, believe me, I've asked myself that question so many times lately and I still haven't found an answer."  
  
Dean doesn't know what to say, every thought that comes to his mind seems to be fair until it's ready to be spoken out loud. Because whenever Dean is about to tell Cas something, he looks at him and finds himself unable to even get out a single goddamn word.  
  
"I didn't want that," he suddenly hears himself say, quietly. The fact that he's not looking right at Cas but only his shoulder makes speaking a little more endurable.   
  
"Me neither," Cas agrees, "but here we are."  
  
With a sarcastic laugh, Castiel stretches out his arms to either side of his body, gesturing vaguely at their surrounding. "Just look at us, Dean, what is this? This is pathetic."  
  
And because Dean doesn't have the words to express his guilt or any other emotion, he simply says, "I'm sorry, Castiel."  
  
The man in front of him looks like he just got struck by lightning, eyes wide open and his lips are slightly parted, too. If it was winter, you would be able to see his breath leave his mouth in little, white puffs. "You never call me by my full name, you don't - don't do that," he assesses, slowly shoving his hands in the pockets of his trenchcoat, which he's still wearing, apparently oblivious to the heat outside.  
  
"I know," Dean mutters and sighs wearily. The lack of sleep and food becomes noticable with new ferocity and as his stupid stomach now rumbles noisily, Cas perks his ears up.   
  
"Was that you?"  
  
Dean can feel the blood rush to his face, lighting up his cheeks with a faint shade of red. "Sorry, I just didn't really eat that much," he explains and makes a mental note on stopping at a fast-food restaurant at the very first opportunity on his way back to the hospital.   
  
Cas' lips give a weak twitch as he says, "I can imagine you didn't really feel like eating."  
  
Dean just nods a stiff affirmation, it seems like he miraculously lost the ability to act natural around Cas. "So, when do you want to have your properties collected and brought to my place?" Dean's counterpart asks when Dean simply keeps staring at him, trying to remind himself of all the tiny details about Castiel's face.  
  
The chapped lips, which wrap around each word so beautifully easily and make Dean want to forget about everything and lean in for just a quick, chaste kiss. Castiel's straight nose that gets those small crinkles whenever Dean manages to raise a laugh from him. His eyes, of course his fucking eyes, that haunt him on sleepless nights and sometimes look so incredibly sad, but only when Cas thinks Dean isn't paying attention. And then there's Cas' skin. Miles of smooth, tanned skin that Dean has traced with not only his fingertips, but lips and teeth as well, so many times he's already lost count.   
  
"Dean?" the man in front of him says then, making him zone back in.  
  
"What?" he asks very intelligently, shaking his head to focus on what's happening instead of the memories that make him want to close his eyes for just a little longer and pretend they're still on Castiel's couch and eating eggs sunny-side up.  
  
Cas narrows his eyes until they're just thin slits, cocks his head to one side and repeats his question.  
  
"Ah, Sammy and I can pretty much stuff everything in a duffel bag. We don't - there's not much we'd have to take with us, you know?" Dean answers, fingers slipping in his jeans pocket and searching for his phone, even though he's pretty sure he left it with Sam at the hospital, because he needs something to hold on to.  
  
"Well," Cas knits his brows, probably thinking of something smart, "do you need me?"  
  
 _Fuck, yes, I need you. I need you back, Cas, I need you to be okay and I need to just hold you for as long as you'll let me._  
  
"I - I, uh, I mean," Dean awkwardly stammers, but is spared any further embarrassment because Cas interrupts him by saying, "For getting your things and - and transport. Maybe."  
  
As Dean lets his eyes flick up at the other man, he can clearly see the blush on Cas' neck, although he's trying his best to hide it inconspiciously by scratching the skin around his collarbone. "Oh, that would be cool, yeah," Dean agrees, casting him a quick glance just to make sure the blush is still gracing his skin.  
  
"When do you want me to come over, then?" Cas asks converstaionally, turning around entirely now.   
  
Even under the fabric of his coat, which actually is a little too big for Cas and rather loosely covers his shoulders, Dean clearly can make out the tension in the other man's muscles. If only he could reach out, place his hands on Cas' back and ease that tension out by simply pressing his thumbs into the small space right below Castiel's shoulder blades. He knows exactly what buttons to press to make Cas relax - literally.  
  
"I need to talk to Sammy first, you know," Dean replies and shamelessly uses the given opportunity to let his eyes linger on Cas' hair without him noticing it, "but if - maybe we could get the stuff tomorrow. Or something. Seriously, you could just come over whenever it's cool for you, for all I care. I mean I do care. But - I just don't want to - Shit."  
  
And then Cas turns around and simply uses his eyes to silence him. The words that almost had been spilling from his mouth are suddenly gone. Erased forever.  
  
"Tomorrow sounds good," he says and fiddles with the belt of his trenchcoat, twirling it around his index finger slowly.   
  
Dean's lips are already open, ready to say something, but Cas wasn't done talking, "I should go now, I have an appointment later and can't afford to be late, so, I just, maybe..."  
  
He's trailing off, fingers all tangled up in the belt now, but something about the way Cas looks at him gives Dean goosebumps and even though he knows that he shouldn't expect anything about their relationship to change any time soon, his heart still skyrockets as Cas takes a few steps towards him.  
  
Closer. And closer and closer until he's so fucking close, Dean could kiss him without doing more than angling his head slightly, but then he keeps walking and Dean is left with a purposeful brush of Castiel's shoulder against his.  
  
"I'm sorry," Dean whispers one last time.  
  
"Please tell Sam I said 'Hello'," Cas mumbles at the same time.  
  
Neither of them turns around, but Dean knows that Castiel heard him because of the small, strangled noise that resonates in the entrance hall even after Cas has left the building through a different exit door.   
  
Fingers close around his upper arm just as Dean has summoned up the strength and willpower to take a step towards the door. "Dean." And for a split second that one word stirs up hope inside Dean's stomach, making a fragile flower blossom in his ribcage.   
  
A moment later, however, that flower withers and turns into dead leaves that make his stomach sink anew.  
  
"Jamie?"  
  
"Just me," his friend excuses himself at the disappointment that probably is more than visible on his face right now, "I just wanted to see how you're doing." With a weak wave of his hand, Dean attempts to shrug the whole thing off, "Everything's awesome."  
  
Jamie simply slides one hand up to the back of Dean's neck, adding the slightest hint of pressure to remind him that he's still there, and guides him towards the door. This simple gesture makes Dean realize once more that without his best friend, he wouldn't know where he'd be right now.  
  
Maybe he'd be sneaking out of some girl's bedroom or waking up somewhere he didn't remember going. But because of making one single decision, his life has turned out to be the way it is now and as much as Dean wishes a few details were different, he wouldn't take anything he's ever said to Cas back. Because even the words that ended what they had defined who they are and somehow made him see who he needs to be to make everything work out.  
  
"You're a really crappy liar, Dean Winchester," Jamie states as they step out into the sunlight, his warm hand still squeezing Dean's neck.   
  
Dean slowly tilts his head back until he's staring right up at the sun that's shining down on them with its everlasting brightness and heat.   
  
"I know," he says as he opens the car door for Jamie to make himself comfortable in the co-driver's seat while he himself circumvents the engine hood and slides into the driver's seat. The sound the door makes as he pulls it shut appears to be far too loud in the awkward silence that has settled in the vehicle and only fully vanishes when Dean turns on the engine, foot finding the gas pedal automatically, and reverses out of his parking space.  
  
"I'm going to drive to the hospital now, do you need me to drop you off somewhere?" Dean asks casually, blindly reaching over to turn the volume of the radio up, and nearly instantaneously is rewarded with a song he not only knows, but actually likes, too.  
  
Instead of answering Dean's question, though, his friend decides to change the topic. "Why are you going to the hospital?"  
  
The sick feeling is back in Dean's stomach and every thought about briefly stopping at some drive-through restaurant on his way back is forgotten. "Sammy, he, well - Sam had to be rushed to hospital last night," is what finally comes out, which isn't even a lie, but he honestly doesn't feel like letting Jamie in on his little brother's suicide attempt. And definitely not without Sam's acquiescence since the whole thing is more than just a bit personal. If it was something trivial like a broken leg or even a foodborne disease, it wouldn't be that much of a problem, but since it isn't, Dean would rather bite off his own tongue than cause his brother unnecessary pain.  
  
"Oh, shit, do you want me to keep you company maybe?" Jamie offers.  
  
It's actually more than tempting because if Jamie was to accompany him, he wouldn't be under the pressure of being strong for Sammy the whole time of his visit. Yet, he declines by simply assuring his friend that it isn't actually  _that_ bad, that everything would be alright in just a matter of days. The concerned expression on Jamie's face remains throughout the very taciturn ride back home, though.   
  
"How did you do it?" Dean at some point demands to know, steering with just one hand now. His other hand has gone on a search mission for his phone because what if it's not next to Sam's hospital bed but somewhere in his car? Did he absently toss it in the back seat after getting the desired amount of money from the McRaggers' house? He honestly can't remember.  
  
"Do what?" Jamie counters, studying a small scratch on the inside of his palm closely.  
  
"You know what I mean, dammit, how did you - I mean, Cas, how did you...?"  
  
For some reason Dean can't quite enunciate what he really truly wants to say, so he adds a shrug of his shoulders just to prove his point.   
  
"I think you might have wanted to ask how I managed to get your ex-boyfriend to come and pay the bail for me, even though I've never even talked to him before, let alone could possibly know his contact data or phone number. How I found a valid excuse for him to pick up a dude he probably only knows by sight," Jamie teases and Dean is only one fucking second away from losing it and maybe going as far as simply punching him right in the face for saying something so cruelly true.  
  
It's not that Dean has a problem with talking about Cas in particular, it just makes him sick to hear Jamie say all that stuff so casually. Of couse his best fried can't possibly quite understand how much of an effect his words have on Dean, especially in his current state.   
  
Vulnerable, weak, depending on someone.  
  
Just his name alone triggers a painful sting in Dean's chest, which automatically is connected to another agonizing throb of a region in his lower stomach. "Yeah, exactly," he eventually breathes, knuckles slowly turning white where his hands are clamped around the steering wheel.   
  
"It wasn't that hard," Jamie starts explaining, "back at the bar, you know, when you said how you felt about being with Cas - remember I took your phone away?"  
  
"Yeah, why?"  
  
"Come on, Dean, it's not that difficult to understand, put one and one together."  
  
And Dean is trying to see the connection between Jamie taking away the phone from his drunk self and the fact that Cas had been willing to show up and pay the bail for Jamie, but there seems to be none. Why on earth would Cas do that?  _Why?  
  
_ "I sent Castiel's phone number to my phone, that's as easy as it is."  
  
"You bastard," Dean grumbles, but finds himself not even angry with his friend. He's rather amazed by the simplicity of his action, though it's still embarrassing that it had taken Jamie for Cas and him to exchange more than a few words. But what's done is done and Dean is far too tired to think about ways of going back in time.  
  
"You're not angry with me, now, are you?" Jamie breaks the silence after ten minutes of driving, the only sound filling the car was a male voice singing a song about love and loss. "Of course not," Dean quickly clarifies and turns his head to give Jamie a look that's supposed to say something like _You just got Cas to talk to me and even if I don't have a fucking clue if he'll ever let me touch his goddamn skin again, we're moving in together because of you, so why the hell should I be angry with you?  
  
_  "Good," Dean's friend smiles and his eyes sweep down to his feet for a couple seconds before he lets them flick up at Dean again. "Alright, I know that you love Cas, so you're not gonna let him go, are you, Dean?"  
  
"Of course not," Dean can hear himself say, fingers tightening around the steering wheel, and the gesture somehow gives that bit of determination away that it takes for Dean to lift his head again. "I never liked Passenger anyway," he adds.  
  
And while Jamie has struggles breathing through his paroxysm of laughter, all Dean manages to do is crack a pained smile and keep his eyes fixed on the road. He doesn't think about that one time he and Cas had been teasing each other and Dean had ended the moment by saying, "Eyes on the road." He does  _not._  
  
By the time Dean and Jamie stop at the closest gas station to refuel the car, Jamie claims he's outright too weak to take a single damn step, so Dean gives in to the pleading look his best friend casts him and buys a stupid sandwich, which gets him an amused arched eyebrow from the guy behind the counter.  
  
After another exactly 3 minutes and 42 seconds, Dean is keeping count because the noises Jamie makes while devouring his sandwich are beyond obscene, they finally stop in front of the huge building of the hospital and Jamie leaves to meet up with Cindy.  
  
"Dean, where have you been?" is the first thing Dean gets to hear when he sneaks a peek into Sam's room to see whether he's asleep. "Missed you, too, buddy," he snorts and notices with delight that Sammy's cheeks actually seem to have regained at least a bit of color.   
  
He expected Sam to pull one of his many bitchfaces, which he has down cold, but he definitely wasn't prepared for his little brother to make an unhappy noise and force him down into a clinging hug. "Whoa there, Sammy, everything okay?" But Sam just tucks his head under Dean's chin and curls his trembling fingers against the fabric of his big brother's shirt.  
  
"I thought - I thought you'd leave," comes the muffled reply a few seconds later.  
  
Dean sighs, carding a hand affectionately through Sam's hair and slowly starts bringing a bit of distance between them, so he can look at him, but Sam simply digs his fingers in Dean's shoulders and refuses to let him go. And Dean understands that, some days he used to wish someone was there to hold him, too. "I'm not leaving, Sam, alright? I just had to pick someone up, y'know? But I'm here now, okay, and I'll be there when you wake up tomorrow, too."  
  
"Yeah, okay," his brother mumbles, rather quickly pulling away and damn near scooting back to the other end of the bed.   
  
Dean knows that he probably should mention their impending move to Cas, but Sam is totally jumpy and keeps squirming impatiently. And when the door opens and a girl with blonde, wavy hair steps in, Dean definitely can see why. "Sorry it took so long," the girl smiles at Sam, utterly oblivious to his big brother's presence and even the cough Dean purposefully lets out.  
  
"Jess," Sam mumbles bashfully as she slowly sits down on the chair beside his hospital bed and laces their fingers together. For just an infinitesimal moment Dean is completely satisfied with watching Sam's cheeks turn redder gradually when Jess inches closer to peck his cheek. "Jess," Sam whines and his face is just so fucking red, Dean is not even trying to oppress his laughter anymore.  
  
"Oh." All colour drains from her rosy-tinted face and it takes Dean a few attempts to calm both Sam and Jess down enough to quickly introduce himself. "Wait, you're Dean?" Jess asks after the brief mention of his name, eyebrows raised in surprise.  
  
"Yeah, why?"  
  
She casts Sam a quick glance, but the very next second her eyes are on Dean again. "I just, you know, assumed you were taller." Shaking his head in pure desperation, Dean purses his lips. "It's not my fault your boyfriend is so tall."  
  
After that, the spell is broken and they spend a good two hours simply exchanging informations, embarrassing stories about Sam, which make the younger Winchester bang his head against the headboard of his bed, and Dean actually has to dodge a weak hack of his brother's arm. Until that moment, Dean had managed to take his mind off thinking about why Sam is in the hospital in the first place.  
  
He's actually quite grateful for denying his stomach any food because Dean is not entirely sure whether he would have managed to keep it down. Especially not when Sam closes his eyes, takes a shaking breath and Dean can see his fingers tremble as they run over a small not quite healed scar on the inside of his arm.  
  
"Jess, uh, would-" Dean begins and while he's still struggling to find words to nicely express that maybe she should rather go home because there still are things that need to be discussed before Sam is too exhausted to think about them properly, Jess rises from her chair, squeezes Sam's hand once and turns to Dean.  
  
"It's quite late already, I should go home," she simply declares, smiles at both Winchesters and leaves.  
  
"How you doin'?"  
  
Ever so slowly, Sam lifts his gaze from where he'd blankly been staring at the bandage around his right wrist. "It didn't even hurt, not really." It's pure torture to see his little brother like that, talking about ending his life so casually, so carelessly. "At first it did," Sam continues mumbling and stretches one arm out, baring its underside to Dean, "it really hurt, but after a while it didn't even sting. I felt numb, as if my entire body was wrapped up in cotton wool. And I - I just wanted to get out of that envelope. I just wanted to get out."  
  
Drawing his legs up to his chest, Dean's little brother curls his arms forward and around his knees as though shielding himself from everyone's eyes.   
  
"We can get out, Sammy," Dean promises and the mattress of Sam's hospital bed dips, groaning its discomfort into the room, when he lifts his brother's legs to make room for himself, "both of us." In an instant, Sam's head whips up and there's hope hidden in those tired eyes, which haul Dean back into reality.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean that we don't have to go back, we could get our things and leave, y'know. You wouldn't have to see this house ever again, we could - we could start over," Dean tells him and with every word leaving his lips, the fatigue is eased out of Sam's features.  
  
"I could get our stuff tomorrow and after you get discharged from hospital, we could go, simply get into the car and leave his place, leave behind everything. It could be everything we need. You wouldn't even have to transfer schools, Sammy, wouldn't that be great?"  
  
A shallow crease takes shape between Sam's brows, reflecting his obvious doubts about the whole idea Dean just brought up. "Where would we sleep? Not in motel rooms again, right? Because one time's been far enough." And he's definitely right about that. Right after their house had burned to the ground, left behind as nothing more than a fuming grave with still smoldering remnants of Sammy's collection of books, John had pretty much stuffed Dean and Sam into the car and left Lawrence for a couple weeks, which they'd spent in various crappy and even crappier motel rooms.  
  
The experience has honestly been everything but pleasant or enchanting and probably didn't really do Sam any good.   
  
Because even if not everything about staying at cheap motels had been bad, accidentally walking in on a couple that has been involved in rather X-rated activities definitely was. Even more so since Sam had only been 6 years old.  
  
"No motel rooms, I can tell you that much," Dean reassures him, the corners of his mouth already lifting into the hint of a smile.  
  
"Then - just in case we actually leave - where would we stay?" Sam wants to know, beaming up at his brother.  
  
"That's the point," Dean rubs at the back of his neck before nearly coughing out the next few words, "we'd stay with Cas." There's just a second of silence before Sam cocks his head and outright glares at Dean. "So you two made...up?"  
  
Maybe if Dean was clever enough, he would find an answer that wouldn't exactly reveal his insecurity and anxiety but make him appear totally calm. Despite his sleep deprivation he still manages to not spill every tiny detail about the conversation Cas and him had earlier that day. "No, not exactly, but it's for the best. That's what he said at least."  
  
"Dean?" Sam mumbles, stretching his legs back out and re-arranging the blanket until it's perfectly flat and every crinkle, howsoever small, is smoothed out.  
  
"What is it, buddy?"  
  
"What about Dad?" his little brother asks and Dean honestly believes he can feel his brown eyes drill holes into his skull, but as he turns around to explain why they'd have to leave in any case and that John probably wasn't coming back, Sam is laying on his back and staring up at the plain white ceiling. A small fan blows whiff after whiff of cooled air down at them, rumpling up Sam's hair, to which the younger Winchester replies with a quiet noise of disapproval.  
  
"He probably left for good, y'know, Sammy," he says and the words settle things for him.  
  
Because even if John was to return eventually, Dean would make damn sure there was no one else to be found in their house. Not Sammy, not him and certainly not Cas. He would get their shit tomorrow and stow it in his baby's trunk if he has to, or store everything away in cardboard boxes. Just anything to leave.  
  
He might not have an idea what to do about the record player, but Sammy is the smart one after all, he would definitely find a solution. "What about the house?" Sam interrupts his thoughts about how on earth they could possibly fit everything in the Impala.  
  
"John's problem," he mutters absently, still wondering what to do about the obvious lack of space in his car.  _Didn't Cas say he'd come over and help with transport? Right._ So that hurdle is cleared.  
  
"You know, Cas could help you with Art History. Or maybe Literature. He's got a shit ton of books, you know? There are about fifty thousand bookcases in his living room, each and every one stuffed with books up to the top shelf. They're nearly bristling, but still. There's enough space for us, you wouldn't have to share a room with anyone and you could still see Jess and - Sam?"  
  
But Sam's eyes have long since drifted shut and Dean would be mad if it wasn't for the sorrow and depletion engraved in his little brother's features, even in his sleep.   
  
And while Sam is sleeping safe and soundly in his hospital bed, Dean stays awake and keeps his eyes on the ECG - just in case.   
  
Somewhen around 2 in the morning, the door swings open and Jamie pokes his head into the room, placing his index finger over his lips to gesture Dean not to react in a way that would wake Sam up. "Rescue's arrived," Dean's best friend whispers haughtily and rather carelessly drops a plastic bag into Dean's lap.  
  
"What the fuck?" Dean mouths, but gets a simple shrug in return, so he's forced to take a look at the bag in his lap.  
  
Trying his very best not to make the plastic rustle too loudly, Dean surveys the objects inside with just his hands in almost complete darkness. There are small louvers in the lower part of the door, which allow the bright neon lights from the corridor to seep into the room as dimmed, tawny lines.  
  
When Dean's fingers close around a small plastic box, he immediately knows what it contains and lets out a happy sigh. "I fucking - thank you."  
  
"Chill, it's just pie," Jamie silences him, but even in the not-quite darkness Dean can see him grin.  
  
"It's a treasure," he retorts before going back to skimming the plastic bag thoroughly. "Oh, are these - Jesus."   
  
"No. No, they're called burgers," Jamie jibes, shrugging off his thin jacket to place it over the backrest of his chair before taking a seat.  
  
While Dean is busy stuffing as much food into his mouth as it will go, Jamie answers his grateful glances with occasional nods of his head. "Always there for you," he promises Dean three hours later, gently pushing at his best friend's shoulder before leaving the hospital again.  
  
Dean's eyelids feel like rocks, dragging his head nearly forward and threatening to flutter shut just any second now, but the steady beeps coming from the ECG are keeping him awake. Nothing more than a quiet reminder that his brother might start feeling worse, even though it doesn't actually seem like it.  
  
When Sam wakes up, Dean is actually poking his eyeball just to feel something apart from the heaviness of his head.  
  
"You're here," Sam yawns, making a noise of happiness that Dean is far too jealous of. "Of course I am, didn't I tell you? I'm not John after all," he mumbles sleepily, blinking slowly, but his eyelids aren't really obeying and stay shut for longer than Dean had intended.  
  
Raising a brow, Sam rakes his eyes over his brother incredulously and presses his lips into a tight line. "Dean, when was the last time you slept?"  
  
Sleep sounds so nice, but today he has to get their properties from home, stuff them into Cas' and his car and bring everything to Castiel's house before he should really start working on a present for his little brother's birthday. And he can't forget about the pie-cake, of course. Only when everything is done, he can allow himself to even consider sleeping.   
  
"Before - uhm - you were brought here, I guess."  
  
Sam widens his eyes to an incredible size. "That's really unhealthy, Dean!"  
  
Dean is saved by a sudden muffled buzzing sound from Sam's nightstand. Oh, that's where he left his phone when he'd went to pick Jamie up and save the day. As he unlocks the screen with the usual swipe of thumb he's gotten used to, there's a small letter symbol in the top left corner, telling him there's an unread message waiting to be read.  
  
 **New message from: Cas  
1 hour, your place?  
  
** With a deep sigh, Dean sits up a little straighter, stretching his arms over his aching head until his spine makes that horrendous noise as it pops, and types a quick reply. During the rather brief task, he tries to avoid looking at the previous messages. Because no matter how much it hurts reading them, as long as they're saved on his phone, he still can believe that one day they will go back to writing equally heartwarming things.  
  
 **Yea ok.  
  
** And exactly an hour later, Dean is parking his car in front of their house. Sam had made quite a fuss about Dean's lack of sleep, but then a doctor came to put new bandages on and Dean had taken the opportunity and left. Honestly, he just hadn't been ready to throw the just digested food right back up.  
  
Even though Sam's cuts had been stitched up, he's pretty sure the view would be too triggering for it to do him any good, let alone make him feel better.  
  
After leaving the hospital, where Sam and him had been sitting in a room with rather dim lights, the sun had seemed to shine way too bright and Dean was forced to use his hands to shield his eyes from the angry yellow gas ball in the atmosphere.  
  
Now, he feels like protecting his eyes from the view Cas makes.  
  
He's sitting on the Winchesters' front door step, head tilted back as if he was watching the clouds roll by and trying to interprete their shape. For just a moment, Dean scans the closer surrounding to spot Castiel's car, but the next second his eyes are back on Cas and the way his throat is exposed to just everyone, bare, sensitive, vulnerable.  
  
And so fucking familiar.  
  
Dean wants to recall the noises Cas would make whenever he'd graze the skin there with his teeth, but it seems like they're gone, not restorable.  
  
If it wasn't for the gravel under his boots, Dean probably would've stayed unnoticed by the man whose eyes currently are following a bee making its lazy way from one flower to the other. "Hello, Dean," Cas greets without losing track of the striped insect.  
  
The knowledge that only a month ago, Cas would've risen from the stairs and pulled Dean in for a hug that would squeeze all air out of their lungs, so they'd be able to breathe each other in instead, hurts. It's pure agony.  
  
"Hey, thanks for coming over."  
  
Since the front door is still open, both men manage to get inside without more awkward silence than necessary. "How do you want to do it? Would you rather have me helping you with your properties or have me getting Sam's? Or something else?" Cas asks as they trudge upstairs, Dean leading the way.  
  
The last time they'd walked up these stairs, Cas had entwined his fingers with Dean's after dinner on his birthday.  
  
Coming to think about it, the question is really good because _what have I fucking been thinking?  
  
_ "Just - just maybe - could you maybe simply empty Sam's drawers into one of the cardboard boxes under his bed? If that's not dumb. Or if you're not okay with that, you could-"  
  
"Dean."  
  
Without any further comment, Castiel turns towards the door across from Dean's room, raises an eyebrow and unceremoniously steps in when Dean nods his affirmation. Soon everything Dean can hear is the small noise that sounds whenever Cas empties a drawer from Sam's dresser.   
  
After a short while of aimlessly looking around for something he could possibly start with, he comes to the conclusion that nothing really seems worth it. Nothing but his record player and the drawings that are still pushed away under his bed. So Dean starts off with rifling through his closet and tossing shirts on the floor, then pants and the worn-off leather jacket John had given him on one of those few days he actually had been able to think straight. He'd actually rather have it burned to ashes, but it keeps him warm and he doesn't have anything comparable.  
  
"Done," Cas announces half an hour later, almost proudly setting down two boxes filled to the rim with Sam's clothes and school supplies to his feet, "I could - Dean?"  
  
Dean didn't even notice he's been staring at the jacket in his hands for thirty minutes. He also didn't realize that at some point he must have taken a few steps and sat down on his bed, from where he now glances up at the other man.   
  
"It's not all that easy."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"Everything, Cas. I've lived here for years, man, and everything has its right place. So by packing I'm changing things, and I'm - I'm scared of changes. They actually scare the living hell out of me," Dean whispers, brushing his hand over his cheek.  
  
Castiel is leaning against the door frame to Dean's room, eyes fixed on the space above Dean's desk. "Maybe you shouldn't think of it as making changes." He can't possibly know that his drawing once hung on the now empty part of the wall, but Dean still feels the weird need to explain why he took it down.  
  
"Then what should I call it?"  
  
There's a moment of thoughtful silence before Cas answers, "Taking chances."  
  
And while Dean goes back to filling boxes with his own clothes, records and books, whereas Castiel has offered to get their things from the bathroom, those two words dance inside his skull, closely, like two people that are holding onto each other because they have no one else left.  
  
It's utter serendipity that Cas and Dean manage to stow the surprisingly few boxes in the trunk and backseat of Castiel's Mercedes and when Cas offers him a ride, Dean just groans in response because, fuck, his back hurts and his eyes feel like anchors, which would explode if he didn't give them a break.  
  
"Thanks," Dean sighs exhaustedly as he buckles his seatbelt. Next to him, Castiel starts the ignition and simply shrugs his shoulders, blue eyes straight on the road.   
  
The steady sounds coming from the running engine and light vibrations as Dean rests his head against the window are so calming, it doesn't take more than an additional quiet song on the radio for him to doze off. It's been a couple really tough days after all - even for him.  
  
At first Dean can't tell whether the murmured "Dean" is just a delusion or actually reality and even though the warmth on his face is actually feeling quite real, he can't be bothered to open his eyes. This is probably only a very vivid dream and he just wants to revel in the illusion of Cas' hands on his cheeks, simply cupping them, and his voice filling his ears.  
  
"Dean?" Cas' voice asks, fingers adding a bit of pressure to his cheeks.  
  
His body, however, needs to rest so desperately that every attempt of forcing his eyelids back open fails miserably. "I don't know - Dean?" Cas pleads, lightly patting his face now.  
  
And that's when it finally sinks in. These _are_ in fact Castiel's hands and this  _is_ his fucking voice right next to Dean's ear.  
  
"Dean," Cas whines and proceeds to gently shake his shoulders as Dean's eyes snap open, "oh, I'm sorry." Quickly stepping away from the car, Castiel allows Dean to rubs his eyes and pretty much fall onto the sidewalk.  
  
"Sorry, didn't get to," he's interrupted by a hearty yawn that makes tears well up at the corners of his eyes, "sleep for a while." His counterpart simply waves it off and gestures Dean to stand up and go inside.   
  
Dean obeys without thinking about anything any further, his mind greedily savoring the brief moment of skin on skin in a special place, and drags on, up the stairs to Cas' house. "I took the liberty of carrying your as well as Sam's properties inside and aired the spare room close to my - the bathroom upstairs, but found a problem with the second one. Something seems to be wrong with the waterproofing between the first and second floor and there's water spotting on the ceiling of that guest room. I'll call someone to have it fixed, but until then," Castiel unlocks the door, "one of you will probably have to make do with the couch."  
  
"That would be me," Dean immediately decides. There's no way in hell he'd let Sammy sleep on a couch if there still was an actual bed available, a room with a door that you could close.  
  
And even though Cas turns away to toe off his shoes, Dean still can see the last bits of an adoring smile linger on those chapped lips.   
  
Cas quickly carries the boxes with Sam's name on them upstairs while Dean is swaying, trying not to close his eyes for too long. The fact that the scent, which is pretty much  _everywhere,_ is one Dean is heartbreakingly in love with doesn't make it easier, though.  
  
By the time Castiel returns from upstairs, Dean is sitting beneath the entrance door, head tilted to one side, and blinking lazily. "Would you like to get some rest?" Cas asks hesitantly, shuffling over to where the hall leads into the kitchen. When Dean opens his mouth to tell Cas off, to explain that he still needs to make a pie and get Sam at least some sort of present, his body decides that it's had far enough from him and sends him to sleep.  
  
  
**********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
"Why didn't you wake me up?" Dean groans, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to press his aggravation into his bones instead of outright shouting at Cas.  
  
"Because," Castiel sighs and straightens his tie in front of the mirror in the corridor, "you literally blacked out in front of the door and anything else would have been what people would call self-destructive." His stupid blue tie still is fixed loosely around his neck and dangling completely messily on his chest.   
  
"That's not your problem," Dean presses out.  
  
Castiel twirls around, the tie now in one hand, crumpled up in an angry fist that's twitching restlessly. "Well, it is since this is my house, so if you pass out in my house, it becomes my problem."  
  
That's just great. It hasn't even been 24 hours since they'd talked about moving in together for the sake of Sam and him and they're already bickering about the most stupid thing - Dean's sleeping schedule. At least Dean can forget about the untold words that are hovering above them like a dark grey cloud, filled with rain in form of hate, and about to burst any moment. He can pretend there's never been anything between them, even though the ache in his chest and stomach does its very best to prove him otherwise.  
  
"I need to make a pie," is the last thing Cas gets to hear before Dean is out of the front door, hair sleep-mussed and lips still numb.  
  
Dean doesn't make a pie that day. Instead, he spends the last leavings of his fee on a book series of Sam's favorite author. Hopefully Sam wouldn't mind the missing cake or pie or whatever he's expecting, but if he did, Dean could blame everything on Cas.  
  
It isn't his fault that Cas simply thought he knows what's best for Dean. Because he doesn't, right?  
  
When he returns to Castiel's house, his own temporary home, Dean realizes that he doesn't have the keys and has to use the bell. "Dean?" Cas sounds so incredibly surprised to see Dean standing in front of him, it's just amusing.  
  
"Hi," he mumbles, amusement not really surfacing from under the anger that apparently still hasn't entirely vanished.  
  
Maybe the whole idea concerning moving in together has been stupid right from the start, maybe the voices inside Dean's head had been right all along. Maybe they had been bound to fail from the day they met.  
  
As Dean pushes past Cas, however, a delicious scent fills his nostrils and makes his mouth water. The sweet smell of apple pie has settled on every surface in the house and if it was winter, Dean would probably cry happy tears. "Jesus fucking Christ," he voices under his breath, nearly dropping the cotton bag with Sam's present.  
  
"I'm sorry for ruining your plans," Castiel mumbles quietly and that's when Dean notices the bright red area on the back of his right hand. "Fuck, Cas, what the hell did you  _do_?"  
  
But Cas twists his arm behind his own back and hides his hand from Dean's eyes, shrugging apologetically. "I knew you wouldn't have the time to make a pie and I still had the ingredients for apple pie, so - I'm sorry."  
  
"I honestly don't care," Dean sighs, "but what the hell is that on your hand? That looks like you've been trying to rub your skin raw or something. Show me your hand, come on." When Cas doesn't react apart from swallowing heavily, Dean realizes his mistake. For just a tiny, tiny moment, he's allowed himself to act like there never has been a fight or break-up.   
  
But then Castiel untangles his arms from where they'd been hidden and stretches his injured hand out, slowly but surely. "Okay, let's forget about what happened and - and just talk about your hand, okay?" Dean demands, screwing his eyes shut to numb the pain following his words. "Okay."  
  
Dean honestly has no single damn clue how Cas had managed to burn his hand to this degree. The skin is red and swollen, white blisters blooming up every few millimeters, and the slightest hint of contact makes Cas suck in a sharp breath. "Does this hurt?" Dean wants to know, tracing the outline of the red area.  
  
A whimper escapes Castiel before he can disguise it with a long-drawn-out breath. "Yes, that hurts."  
  
"Sorry, but I gotta ask. What did you do?"  
  
"I just wanted to get the pie out of the oven, I even had towels between the pie pan and my palms," he furrows his brows in incomprehension, "I don't understand." Dean studies the burn for just a bit longer. "Did you cool it with cold water from the tap? Or an ice bag?"  
  
"No," Castiel answers sternly, sounding as if that was the most silly thing Dean could have come up with.  
  
"Go and do that, we should probably get you a cold application. Seriously, Cas, you should know better than burning your hand on the heater rods."  
  
Castiel's forehead crinkles as he knits his brows again. "Heater rods?"  
  
"Yeah, they're above the griddle," Dean explains patiently, "did no one ever tell you to stay away from those? Hurts like a bitch, but I guess you would know that by now." A small smile lights up Castiel's face for a moment and when it's gone again, Dean dooms himself for being unable to take pictures with just his eyes.  
  
"I don't know what those rods are," Castiel insists, blowing air on the back of his burned hand.  
  
Rolling his eyes, Dean follows Cas into the kitchen, kneels down beside the oven and gestures the other man to keep him company with an unequivocal nod of his head. "You see these sticks that are still glowing a little?" Cas tilts his head, squinting up at the heater rods in confusion.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well, next time you use the oven try and keep your hands away from those. Or hot things in general. Burnings are the worst kind of injury. Fires are nasty sons of bitches, hard to smother, y'know?" Dean starts babbling, turning his head to give Cas a serious look, but when he opens his eyes after blinking just  _once,_ their faces are entirely too close.  
  
Warm breath mingles in the bit of space that's left, heating up the air around them.   
  
And then Cas closes his eyes, stands up and leans back against the counter rather quickly. "When does Sam's party start?" he mutters and when Dean looks up from where he's still kneeling, he can see that Cas' eyes are squeezed shut as if he was trying to stop himself from doing or saying something.   
  
"2 pm, if everything goes well, he can go home tomorrow evening. The nurses said he'd have to stay one more day after that, but seems like he's convinced the doctors he's doing better," Dean answers casually, as casually as his fluttering stomach allows.   
  
"Am I invited?" Cas asks just as Dean is about to leave the kitchen and the tiny spark of hope altogether.  
  
"Sure, why not? Ah, you know what, I forgot something at home, I'm just gonna get it and - maybe - sleep there, so I'm just gonna," he stammers, taking a few steps backwards until he bumps into the wall behind him. "Goodnight, Dean," he can hear Cas sigh, but then he's out of the door and pacing down the street.  
  
And as much as the night air is cooling, it's not enough to make Dean's brain stop screaming to do something about the hollow in his chest.  
  
  
**********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
Dean wakes up with his head tilted into a more than uncomfortable angle.   
  
The bright neon lights falling directly into his eyes are much more of a curse than a blessing and he honestly wishes his head simply would've dropped forward in his sleep because then he'd be waking up with his cheek on Sam's matress.   
  
"Dean, why are you here?" Sam asks as soon as he notices Dean moving in the chair beside his bed, hands with still bandaged wrists flying up to his eyes that are still rather small from sleep.  
  
"Happy Birthday!" Dean chants instead of an answer because, quite frankly, he'd take anything over explaining his little brother that he ran away from his problems once again and preferred to sleep in a hospital chair than on a couch just because there has been one awkward, little moment with Cas. The worry is almost immediately smoothed out of Sam's face and he gives him a genuine, broad smile that makes Dean remember that their move is not only a chance for Cas and him to fix things, but an improvement for Sam as well.  
  
"Thank you, Dean," Sam says.  
  
"What time is it, by the way?" Dean wonders, withdrawing his phone from his pocket and unlocking it for a second.   
  
 **4 new messages from: Cas  
Read now?  
  
** "Oh, come on, really?" he mumbles while scrolling through their chat.   
  
 **Dean, you forgot the pie and the present for your brother. Do you have any intentions in coming back and picking both up?  
  
Dean, your pie! I'm going to bring it over.  
  
Dean, I'm standing in front of your house with the pie and the present for Sam, but the door is locked. Please open up, I forgot my jacket.  
  
I'm going home, I assume you didn't actually go home last night. I'll just bring the pie tomorrow. Greetings from my brethren to Sam.  
  
** "What is it?" Sam asks cheerfully, taking a small sip from the inevitable glass of water on his bedside table. The doctors have removed the wires from Sam's chest and the ECG is therefore quiet today, which is really nice for Dean's mildly throbbing head. "Just a text," Dean plays it down and replaces the phone in his jeans.  
  
Soon Sam is busy chattering about how awesome this birthday is because Dean is here and Jess would come after visiting her grandparents in a retirement home and there is no drunk John around to butt in and ruin the mood. And even though Dean is happy Sam actually does seem to feel better, at least for now, knowing that Sam's best birthday so far is taking place in a fucking hospital room makes him cringe.   
  
"No, you don't understand," a loud voice suddenly sounds from outside the room, "I am invited. No - I don't care - I know. Yes, Winchester. Yes." That voice is occasionally interrupted by a woman saying, "Sir, I need to ask you to calm down," and, "Uhm, what?"  
  
"Yes, I am a member of the family."  
  
Sam is chuckling into his glass and Dean's knuckles are white around the edge of his seat, hurting from how tight his grip is. But this is Cas, he's here and he's claiming to be a member of their family, which he probably wouldn't do if he knew about the walls being wafer-thin.  
  
"No, no, I'm not his father," Castiel insists and Dean can imagine him giving the nurse the stink eye.  
  
"Then how are you related if you're not his brother and not his father."  
  
Dean's heartbeat is nowhere near healthy and the fact that his little brother is laughing so hard, he's only just wheezing tonelessly now doesn't make it any better.   
  
"Oh, I didn't know, I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester," the nurse apologizes bashfully, "I didn't mean to keep you from seeing your brother-in-law."   
  
And then Cas pushes the door open, a satisfied, little grin on his lip, and greets Sam with a cheerful, "Happy Birthday, Sam!" Just when the last word is spoken, Cas' eyes go wide, nearly popping out of their sockets, and he tilts his head in confusion. "Why is he writhing like that, Dean? Is he in pain?"  
  
Dean's mouth is dry, far more dry than a stone that's been laying in the desert for a thousand years, and he can just unbelievingly stare at Cas, still trying to get the facts straight.   
  
"What is it with you Winchesters?" Cas grumbles and rather unhappily places the wrapped up present Dean forgot at home last evening on Sam's nightstand. "You - you, Christ, you just said," Sam laughs, stopping mid-sentence because he's shaking too hard.   
  
Castiel slowly pales, fingers finding their way into the fabric of his ugly trenchcoat of their own accord, and widens his eyes. "I didn't mean to make anyone uncomfortable."   
  
"You simply could've said you're a friend of the family, Cas, that would've been enough," Dean's brother chuckles, sitting up a little straighter to catch a better look at the present to his right. "Oh," Cas makes, shifting his weight onto his other foot, "I was unaware."  
  
Dean still hasn't said anything and doesn't really want to either, so he keeps staring at the man in front of him, trying to understand _what the fuck just happened_ and even though he actually knows the answer to that question, he doesn't quite believe it. There is no way in hell Cas would lie to a nurse, would tell anyone he's engaged or married to Dean just to see Sam.   
  
"Am I interrupting?" Jess suddenly makes an appearance, lifting two small, white bags above her head as she enters the room. The amused expression on Sam's face switches in front of everyone's eyes into a stunned one, brown eyes smiling probably wider than his mouth ever could.  
  
"Jess!"  
  
"Happy Birthday, Sam," she giggles, quickly hugging him and putting her presents next to Dean's before turning to greet the other two men. "Dean," Jess grins, "uh - Dean's...Sam's...friend?" And of course Sam thinks he has to be funny and corrects, "Husband."  
  
While Jessica goes completely wide-eyed and her jaw drops, Cas shakes his head and desperately attempts to straighten out things and Dean takes his little brother in a headlock. He really couldn't give less of a damn that today is Sam's birthday.  
  
But it only takes Cas, and Cas alone because it's totally not Dean's fault that Cas doesn't have enough of a common sense to know that you could easily visit people that are not family members in the hospital without having to lie about being someone's husband, a few minutes and a bit of uncomfortable squirming under Jess' mocking glare to convince her that Dean and him aren't actually married.  
  
Dean still doesn't feel like talking, especially not when Cas' and his eyes meet on one of the many journeys they make through the room while Sam unwraps his presents.   
  
"Dean!" he damn near yells as he opens his big brother's present.  
  
Before Dean can even ask whether that exclamation was meant to sound happy or not, Sam's grinning so widely at him, it definitely must hurt. "This is - I just - thank you." And that's honestly all Dean needs to hear, even though it would be really nice to hear a few certain words from Cas, who currently is loitering in a corner and watching the scene displayed in front of him as if he rather would be somewhere else.   
  
Sam gets a book and cinema tickets for a movie Dean knows his little brother has been wanting to watch for ages from Jess, which makes him throw up his arms just to wrap them around his girlfriend for actual minutes that Cas and Dean spend pointedly looking in completely different directions.   
  
And then, just when Sam is about to speak up, Castiel clears his throat and reaches deep into the pocket of his trenchcoat. Dean's stupid stomach rumbles in jealousy, constricting painfully and making him cough. "I wasn't entirely sure whether you have a specific wish, so I thought this would be the best idea."  
  
With that, Cas hands Dean's little brother a small, flat present, which is honestly poorly wrapped up. "Thanks, uh, Cas," Sam mutters, slowly taking the item from the other man.  
  
Crossing his arms, Dean leans back in his seat and totally ignores the way Cas shoots him a shy glance as he returns to his chair. "Wow, I don't know what to say," Sam mumbles after a minute, blankly staring at the small card in his hands, "thanks."  
  
It turns out to be a voucher for a furniture shop, where Sam is allowed to pick things a certain sum worth.  
  
"Where's the cake?" Jess breaks the uncomfortable silence suddenly, her legs dangling off the edge of Sam's hospital bed, and when Dean nods, Cas retrieves the plastic bag with pie he'd placed on the floor beside his chair previously.   
  
"My apologies if the pie is not edible," he excuses himself while cutting the glorious looking pie into thick slices with a plastic knife he obviously must have brought along. "I bet it's gonna be just fine," Dean grumbles, lightly kicking the linoleum floor. Alright, he's feeling like a complete asshole for not being in a super happy mood on his little brother's birthday, but Cas is here and he just wants things to go back to normal.  
  
The pie tastes awful.   
  
Everyone piles his fork with a huge bit of apple pie, lifts it to his mouth and shovels the whole bite in, just to pull a disgusted face. It tastes like rotten apples and flour and even though Cas flashes an apologetic smile, the disappointment is clearly visible. "I'm sorry it turned out this bad."  
  
Somehow Dean manages to choke down the mush in his mouth. "It's not too bad, Cas," he tries to assure the other man, but when Sam cocks an accusing brow at him, he presses his lips into a grim line and mutters, "Right, alright, it's awful."  
  
Cas nearly flinches at Dean's words, drawing his shoulders up defensively. "Hey, Cas, I'm sorry."  
  
"I'm sorry," Castiel states, glancing up at the clock on the wall, "but I'm afraid I have to go, I have an - an appointment I nearly forgot about. Dean, you know where to find the spare key, don't wait up for me, it's probably going to be late."  
  
A chill burns its way down Dean's spine, making him shudder, because he full well knows that "don't wait up for me" usually means that someone somewhere is getting laid. And that someone definitely is not Dean. "Okay, thank you. For everything, Cas, I mean it," Sam smiles warmly.  
  
  
Dean takes Sam home, to Castiel's house, this evening, watching him in the rear view mirror the whole time because for some reason he's afraid his brother might start doing something stupid since he's out of the hospital and not under strict observation anymore.   
  
They barely talk, deafening silence is their silent comrade all the way up the stairs and through the entrance hall and eventually only is broken so Dean can quickly lead his brother around the house.   
  
Later that night, Dean is watching the little numbers in the top right corner of his phone jump from one to the next just to do something to kill some time; he can hear Sam doddering around the house, opening doors and cupboards like a nosey little infant. "Sam, go to bed," he groans as the numbers scream "midnight" at him. But his asshole of a brother pretends not to hear him and moves to the kitchen, surveying the dishwasher.  
  
With a loud sigh, Dean rolls onto his side, tucking a small pillow under his head for it to feel anything like home.  
  
Cas used to feel like home, the elegant column of his neck, the soft curls of hair on the back of his neck and his fingers threaded through his own. Emery paper to velvet. And not even the cushion under his body feels familiar anymore. Its warmth is missing, the connection he and Cas had shared, the simple closeness of two bodies.  
  
Dean falls asleep with Castiel's name on his lips and his legs awkwardly wrapped around one another because he has no clue where the spare blankets are and Cas still hasn't returned from his 'appointment' and Sam wouldn't know either.  
  
  
**********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
There is something toasty around his legs as Dean wakes up, face pressed deeply into the cushions of the sofa and inhaling the fading scent of coffee and summer breeze that follows Cas everywhere he goes. Someone must have closed the curtains in front of the living room windows since he remembers staring up at one especially bright star right before falling asleep.  
  
"Dean, are you awake?" Sam shouts from somewhere rather close by.  
  
"Morning," Dean mumbles as he attempts to unwrap himself from the blanket, but finds it curled tightly around his feet, twice. "Cas said I could make breakfast," his brother starts babbling the second Dean closes the distance to the kitchen and insecurely stands in the doorway.  
  
"Yes, I did," sounds Cas voice behind Dean, rough from sleep, and it sends hot shivers down his back that come to an end at his tailbone.   
  
Half an hour later, Dean finds himself sitting at the kitchen table, next to Cas and opposite from Sam. Out of some weird kind of coincidence, he'd purposefully chosen the seat not across from Cas, which eventually had him sitting right beside him with not even one foot of distance between their arms and that probably really aren't the best conditions to figure out where they should take this.  
  
And by this Dean means situation.  
  
"Thanks for the blanket, Sam," he remembers halfway through his breakfast, slowly scooting away from Cas because he's doing that leg-wobbling thing he always does and more than just once was close to brushing Dean's leg in the progress.  
  
"What are you talking about?" comes the reply, stifled by a mouthful of egg.  
  
Dean doesn't hear the tiny snort Cas lets out at the view of Sam devouring the pile of eggs on his plate. "I don't know about you, Sam, but last time I checked, blankets weren't able to fly."  
  
"Oh," Sam grins and a bit of egg oozes out of the corner of his mouth, "don't thank me." And Dean is about to object when his smirking little brother jerks his head in Cas' direction and chews, "Thank him instead." There are a lot of stupid jokes Dean has learned to laugh about, there really are, but he didn't expect Sam to say something that rude.   
  
"Very funny," he scoffs and maybe there is a tiny part of him that wants to look over at Cas, ask whether what Sam just said is true and maybe smile. But that smile would depend on the answer.  
  
"Not funny," Cas interrupts casually and turns his head to look at Dean, "since you get cold feet really easily. And if you catch a cold in my house, even if it's summer, it becomes my problem."  
  
Dean is stumped for an answer, eyes widening at the epiphany, and when Cas adds a little smile that immediately has him on the verge of dropping to his knees and apologizing a thousand times for what he's done, a bite off egg he didn't even realize was still in his mouth falls onto the floor.  
  
"Shit I'm sorry," Dean curses, knocking over the chair in his attempt to catch the falling food before it lands on the floor. "God, no, I'm sorry." On his way back up, egg pinched between thumb and index finger, he hits the back of his head on the table and causes Cas' plate to fall on his lap. "I'm sorry," Dean shouts, emotions all of a sudden no longer restrainable.  
  
"I'm sorry."   
  
Still on all fours, Dean crawls out from under the table, rubs his head with the hand that's not holding his breakfast and glances up at the other two. "Sorry?" The corners of Sam's mouth sink for a split second before he starts laughing, Cas joining in, and after a moment of pouting Dean finds himself actually roaring with laughter because there are small crinkles around Castiel's eyes and his straight, white teeth are revealed as well as his gums.  
  
In order to attempt to ape his big brother, Sam picks up a small piece of his own egg, flicks it at Dean and purrs, "Sorry, Cas." He bats his eyelashes slowly, widening his eyes at Castiel, who at some point has covered his mouth and now is trying to keep his coffee inside.  
  
Eventually, however, the laughter dies down and at first Dean is afraid the mood might go back to taut, but it doesn't. In fact, everyone manages to keep smiling all the way through their breakfast and for just this little moment the boundaries between all three of them are gone.   
  
"Excuse me, but I have a job interview this afternoon," Castiel announces as he wipes down the table while Sam and Dean fill the dishwasher with their cutlery and plates, "it probably will be late."  
  
Nodding once to let Cas know that he's heard him, Dean starts collecting Cas' and Sam's coffee cups. "Alright," Sam smiles.  
  
The second Castiel is out of the front door, Sam bars the way for Dean and before he can go as far as taking a breath to snarl at his bitch of a brother, the younger Winchester gives him the third degree. "You still didn't make up? Why? Can't you tell - No, Dean, no trespassing! - he's already forgiven you? Are you really - No, Dean - are you  _really_ that dumb?"  
  
"He didn't forgive me, that's bullshit, Sam, I fucked up and he's angry and I understand that," Dean barks, shoving his brother aside with just one arm.  
  
"No, what you're saying is bullshit. Didn't you notice the way he looks at you?"  
  
Cocking an eyebrow, Dean looks back over his shoulder. "What? You mean when he squints at me and does that stupid head-tilt thing that makes his eyes get those crinkles around them? Yeah, I noticed that." If Dean wasn't absolutely sure that Sam was a human being, the sound his little brother emits is what he would call animalistic; a throaty groan ending in a daunted sigh.   
  
"It's sickening to see him pining for you, I almost had to leave the kitchen," he huffs, shaking his head.  
  
"What the hell, Sammy?"  
  
Sam glares at him as if he wasn't sure whether he wants to shake his brother or shout at him. "I have eyes in my head and Cas has been casting you those glances, you know?" He turns the side of his face to Dean, watching him from the corner of his eye and smiling dreamily.  
  
"I'm going to check out those water spottings in the spare room," Dean rolls his eyes and spends the next fifteen minutes staring up at the ceiling and asking himself where the hell the difference between said spots and mold is because they look  _exactly the same.  
  
_ But no matter what research he does, they're still the same to him when he's sitting on the couch five hours later and thinks about the things Sam had said. Did Cas really beam at him? Was he really forgiven everything he's done wrong, everything he's destroyed and shattered? It seems to be impossible. Sam and him clean the house while Cas is away, if they can't help him elsewhere, they would simply do the housework, so Cas wouldn't feel obligated to do everything by himself or have to ask for help because if there's one thing Cas hates more than pineapples, it's having to ask for someone's help.  
  
When Dean tucks himself in that night, he's seriously contemplating leaving the blanket away just to have a chance of Cas wrapping it around him again, but that would be by far too obvious - even for Cas.  
  
The minutes pass slowly and not even his favorite Metallica songs, which he's got saved in a playlist on his phone, help him fall asleep. So he attempts to read the backs of books in the dark, eyes slowly pervading the blackness of this summer night. He can't tell whether the sky is enshrouded with clouds, utterly blank or dappled with small stars, but he definitely can hear Cas' car parking in front of the house, footsteps on the stairs and then a key turning in the lock.  
  
"Anyone up?" Castiel whispers, carefully pushing the door shut.  
  
For a second, Dean thinks about speaking up or moving noisily enough for the other man to notice, but then he decides to keep completely still and listen to Cas' movements, a soft swish when he takes off his trenchcoat is followed by the sound of bare feet on marble plates. And then...  
  
...the muffled noise of these feet walking on carpet. A Persian carpet with white and dark-blue embroideries.  
  
"Dean, are you awake?"  
  
Not making a sound is unbearably hard, Dean's breath is catching in his throat and even though he can feel his fingers twitch, he doesn't give in and clenches them around the blanket since that would totally blow his cover. "Dean?" Cas mumbles one last time and the piles under his feet creak when he shifts his weight a little.  
  
Dean manages to keep his limbs motionless and his intakes of breath steady, but his eyes are wide open where he's got his face buried in the crook of his arm. After two and a half Metallica songs, which Dean barely even acknowledges, Castiel leaves the living room, but on his way out, he stops and returns to his place next to the couch. "Goodnight, Dean," he sighs and Dean is already screwing his eyes shut, but then warm fingers brush his temple and run through his hair, slowly, as if Cas wanted to enjoy every second of it.  
  
And then the fingers are gone. Cas is gone. But Dean is grinning like stupid because maybe his brother hasn't been all that dumb this time.  
  
Somehow Cas and Dean develop some kind of daily routine, not intentionally, but they do. While Cas travels the state for job interview after job interview, Dean spends most of his days shirtless and cleaning the house. On occasion he compels Sam to help him since he doesn't want to seem like a fucking housemaid, but the look Castiel wears when he comes home early and finds everything shining and tidy is totally worth it.  
  
They don't exactly exchange more words than neccessary, but the frostiness is replaced with tiny, genuine smiles, which lead Dean through every second of being close to breaking the broom on the edge of the table because there's fresh dust on the ground.  
  
And whenever Cas doesn't return until late in the evening, Dean pretends to be asleep just to hear Cas whisper, "Dean, are you awake?" He always keeps his mouth shut, no matter how huge the effort, because he's just not ready for this kind of conversation. But when Cas leaves after light touches, a stroke down his upper arm, a brush of his fingers against his cheekbone, Dean tends to regret his decision and intends to react the next time.   
  
Next time doesn't come until four days later.  
  
"Didn't you wanna call someone to have the mold in the spare room removed?" Sam asks when they're sitting at the kitchen table, Dean currently pouring himself a cup of coffee. Castiel quickly covers his mouth with one palm and mutters, "Water spottings, but, uhm, yes I did."  
  
Sam doesn't breach the subject again. He does, however, give Dean a look as he excuses himself to the bathroom that unmistakably means  _Don't be a fucking dumbass, Dean, and do something._ "Any - any job interviews today?" he asks conversationally and takes a small bite of his French Toast. "Yes," Cas presses out around his mouthful of food, helplessly blinking at Dean over the edge of his hand, which still is covering half of his face, including his mouth. Probably that's why Dean only can guess what the answer was.   
  
"That's good, that's great," Dean says.  
  
"Taking chances," Castiel smiles after swallowing down his helping with a gulping noise that makes him scrunch up his nose hard enough for its bridge to get the small crinkles Dean finds so endearing.   
  
Dean actually manages to crack a small smile of his own. "Right, taking chances."  
  
"Do you want me to take care of this while you get ready for that interview?" he asks eventually, grabbing Sam's plate from across the table and finishing the last sips of his lukewarm coffee. "That would be very nice," Castiel accepts and pushes his plate towards Dean the exact same second Dean reaches out for it.   
  
Their fingers brush against one another, just for a blink, but that moment seems to go on for several years. It's skin on skin, it's gentle and it's familiar. "I'm going to - uh - get dressed," Cas announces after a stunned second of silence and when he exits the kitchen, Dean can tell he's staring at his hand as if it was the most precious thing in the world.  
  
Hours really can be cruel sometimes, every minute passing by so excruciatingly slowly. It would be worse if Dean had to watch sand run down an hourglass because then he'd be tempted to count every single grain just to have something to do.  
  
But right now, he has no idea what to keep himself busy with. There's no housework left to do, no books or school supplies for Sammy to buy, nothing to cook. Nothing at all. So he starts skimming through the books piling on the shelf boards of the bookcases in Castiel's living room. Talking about this house as his own temporary place makes him feel uncomfortable.  
  
Cas' books are sorted by genre. There's the basics like  _Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet_ and  _Harry Potter,_ but when Dean gets to the lower shelf boards, he finds a dusty, but still well-preserved version of  _Cat's Cradle_ and lets out an impressed whistle. He didn't exactly expect Cas to own some Vonnegut.   
  
The book feels good in his hands, a weight giving him assurance that no matter how dumb people think he is, these pages prove himself different and he can stop wondering whether everyone else is right.  
  
Dean makes himself comfortable on the couch, head coming to rest on the pillow, and starts flipping through the much-thumbed pages. "Going out!" Sam shouts after a few hours, slamming the front door shut behind himself before Dean can do so much as wishing him fun.   
  
"Back!" his little brother calls half an hour later, just when Dean is standing under the warm shower spray and scrubbing his shoulders. "Had fun?" he yells back, even though the probability of Sam hearing him is very small. "Yeah!" he can hear Sam respond before the door to his temporary room clunks shut.  
  
When the sun finally, finally sets and bathes the wooden floor in crescents of orange light, Dean is prepared. The words are concocted and the fears allayed - at least for now. He probably will be on the verge of stuttering throughout the small speech he's made up, but if everything goes down the way he plans, Cas and him might actually be able to sort things out.  
  
Today, his legs aren't too cool, quite the reverse, they soon feel far too hot and sweaty and Dean needs to kick off the thin blanket not to suffocate because the heat from under the thin piece of fabric had begun to creep up into his throat. If only Cas would come home. His own breath is hot against the crook of his arm and after a while, he turns on his back to stare up at the ceiling. For mere minutes it's completely silent in the house, Sam probably snoring peacefully in his room, the dishwasher finishing its duty.   
  
Then a small noise sounds from the front door and Dean's eyes snap open instantaneously. Before he can react and roll back onto his stomach, he hears the sound of feet coming closer and crossing the entrance hall entirely. "Dean?" Cas mutters quietly, stepping just a little closer.  
  
"Are you awake?"  
  
It's the same question as every night, but Dean's ears can't seem to get enough of it. Those three words are what he would define as essential.   
  
But everything is prepared. Dean hopes for the shock effect when he would wrap his fingers around Cas' wrist, but maybe that's a stupid idea in the first place. Maybe he should just speak up right now because what if Cas would leave without saying anything else and-  
  
"The interview went really well today," Cas mumbles, "wish me luck."  
  
Dean tries to anticipate the other man's next move, waits for a hint where Cas' fingers would trace his skin tonight, but then the piles creak, a clatter resonates in the room and everything is quiet again.  _Where did Cas go? Why did he leave? What's happening?  
  
_ Inch by inch, Dean opens his eyes, peering over at the window, where the curtains are swaying lightly in a blow of air, before all of a sudden someone really close by clears his throat. "Hello, Dean." Instead of surprising Cas, Dean's the one jumping, startled, and scooting away against the backrest of the couch. "Cas, I, how.. I mean?"  
  
"You don't sleep on your back," Cas explains casually and cocks an eyebrow at him. "Why did you wait up for me?"  
  
 _Because I love you. Because I wanted to apologize once again and ask whether Sam, that stupid son of a bitch, is right. Because I can't stand the thought of you seeing someone else. God, I get so jealous when you leave until late at night. Because I need things to go back to the way they used to be. Because I want to glue the pieces back together. Because for now there's no one that could possibly jeopardize our relationship except for me. Because I'm in love with you, Cas. Undeniably.  
  
_ "Uh."  
  
"Have you been awake the - the other few nights as well?" Cas wants to know, staring down at Dean from where he's sitting on a small chair. And Dean, still on his back, nods because he's unable to speak, vocal chords failing him just like his stupid brain.  
  
Cas' jaw drops, worry creeping across his features and tension building up in his shoulder muscles. "Cas," Dean finds his voice again, "Cas." The words are coming out choked, wrecked, and it takes all his self-control not to lean forward and fist his hands in the back of Cas' stupid shirt. "Dean," Castiel whispers back.  
  
"Cas, I'm sorry, can - can you let me try and fix this?"   
  
There's something sizzling in the air between them, but it's not the usual kind of tension that waits to be lit up to explode like a firework. It's new, it's different. But new means chances and Dean once has been told to take them, to simply take them and see what they would form into under his hands. This tension, here, now and today, is filled with desperation and hope, love and a tiny bit of anger.   
  
"No more lies, Dean."  
  
Castiel rises from his chair and stretches out one hand, palm hovering nanometers above Dean's cheek, before sinking down in front of him. "Dean, we can fix everything, but we have to fix it together because I couldn't stand losing you. Not again, never make me have to lose you again."   
  
The first contact sets Dean's chest on fire and there it is, a heartbeat.   
  
It's unsteady, sometimes skipping a beat, but it doesn't mater since the rhythm Castiel's shaking fingertips drum on Dean's skin is unsteady, too. They're imperfect, they're a little shattered, but not broken. There's enough left for them to recover from their pain.   
  
"Cas, Cas," Dean mumbles, _"Cas."_  
  
There is nothing angry in those blue eyes as Castiel lowers himself onto the sofa, cradling Dean's face in his hands. "I missed you," he sighs, "God, I missed you." And all Dean can do is stop and stare and blink because this is Cas and this is him, together. "Dean," Cas whispers before there are callused hands digging their fingers into his shoulders, nearly feeling like Dean is trying to thrust daggers into his skin.   
  
They don't kiss or talk or do anything, really. They simply hold onto each other, fingers greedily clenching around arms or shirts or whatever they can reach, and sit there. On a couch in a living room somewhere in Kansas. Castiel's hair is slightly shorter than the last time Dean ran his fingers through the tousled, dark mess on Cas' head. "I'm sorry, Cas," Dean at some points starts whispering against the skin of Castiel's cheek, but when Cas gives a tiny scratch at the back of his neck, even Dean can tell he's forgiven.  
  
The approximately thousands of apologies that follow nonetheless don't have to be mentioned here because Castiel's and Dean's hearts are beating in unison, for each other.   
  
Castiel's fingertips dance over Dean's face as if they'd worked out a choreography in advance, determined and swift, tracing the curve of his jaw and the thin lines around his mouth, the small space between his brows and eyes, his forehead and eventually his lips. The touch tickles and maybe Dean should be laughing or at least chuckling, but all he can do for now is stare into the blue of Cas' eyes and thank God he's found the strength to swim again.   
  
"I've been so stupid," Dean confesses, voice sounding nearly toneless.  
  
"But, Dean," Cas mumbles and his mouth is so close to Dean's own lips that focussing on his words is really hard, "you're stupid for the right reasons."   
  
And at the first brush of lips against lips, Dean can feel his breathing falter and his heartbeat stop entirely. There is no pressure behind that kiss, no need or force. It's just a moment of intimacy that doesn't need to be shared with anyone, especially not when Dean's fingers find their way into Castiel's hair and Cas' hands drop to Dean's waist.   
  
There is no make-up sex, no angry sex that has Dean's eyes rolling back into his head, just this brief kiss that expresses everything that is to say.  
  
"Do you forgive m-"   
  
Castiel pulls away far enough to glare at him. "Dean."  
  
But Cas stands up and Dean immediately finds his chest constricting in panic. "Cas? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that, don't go. I don't - I can't." And then slender fingers are threaded through his own. He hadn't even noticed he's been reaching out for Castiel's arm, but when their fingers are interlaced with each other, Dean realizes that this is exactly what he needs.  
  
"Come," Castiel whispers, giving a light tug on his hand, "come, Dean."  
  
Cas leads him out of the living room, squeezing his hand on their way out, and turns off the lights. The darkness is so impenetrable that Dean has to trust Cas to guide him safely to wherever he wants to take him. "Where-," Dean starts, but Cas just cuts him off by repeating, "Come to bed, Dean."  
  
And, God, who is Dean to resist that voice?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
When Sam wakes up and drags his feet down the corridor to use the huge bathroom next to the room Castiel disappears in at night, it's still quite early in the morning. The door has always been closed and Sam really had found himself anything but caring what might be behind it, but today it's ajar and Sam's eyes automatically are drawn inside the room he never got to see.  
  
The only furniture he can spot from where he's standing is a huge double bed and the space on the mattress is currently taken up by two bodies close together, Dean and Castiel.   
  
He can see his brother's lips move, forming words, and Castiel's hands framing Dean's face.  
  
Sam can full well imagine what must have happened to get to see them being so stupidly sweet, but he actually would rather not picture it. Especially not in the morning. So he closes the door without making a sound to not disturb anyone and lets the whispered confessions Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak had been exchanging all night long remain secret.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hits a cymbal* How did you like it?


	21. Redamancy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I just need to tell you guys something. I started this whole fic out of pure boredom while I was on a bus tour, but somehow it developed into something that really means a lot to me now. And it's great to see that you supported me all the way until here and encouraged me. I wanted to thank you, each and everyone of you.  
> Please buckle your seatbelts for the final chapter of Watch Your Mouth. (Sorry it took so long, but I just couldn't deal with the feels tbh. Sorry for every typo you find!)

Nobody has ever looked at Cas the way Dean does.  
  
He has always been beautiful, but as Castiel stares straight into his eyes, he finds something, something that hasn't been there previously, glaring right back at him.   
  
He can't seem to quite define what it is that's lurking in the green of his eyes, hidden behind a small, golden spot, but it makes his chest hurt in all the right places. Dean's fingers at some point have slipped under the hem of his shirt, shyly, and are now resting on his side, right above the sharp edge of his hipbone. The heat radiating off the body in front of him is palpable even through the fabric of both their shirts.  
  
"Castiel," Dean whispers and closes his eyes, fingers adding the slightest bit of pressure.  
  
Somehow Castiel finds himself amazed by how his name sounds when Dean lets it spill from his lips. No one has ever said his name with the same adoration and fondness in their voice as Dean does.  
  
"Missed you, Cas."  
  
The nickname he got to know so well makes his heart swell in his chest and his arms curl forwards of their own accord to pull Dean against him until there's no space left for even a single damn fingernail to fit in between them. "I missed you, too, Dean," he promises quietly, "but now we don't have to miss each other anymore." Reluctantly, Cas withdraws one hand from where he'd tangled his fingers in the soft strands of light-brown hair to tip Dean's head back. "Because we're where we belong - with each other."  
  
His words draw a soft noise of surprise from the other man and then Dean's arms are so incredibly tight around him, Cas believes they might pulpify his kindeys, but he actually couldn't care less. Not when he gets a faceful of brown hair that smells like the fading scent of motoroil, leather and fall. And definitely not when Dean allows his lips to brush the sensitive area of skin right below the juncture of Cas' jaw and neck.   
  
Dean's hands are gentle where they rub tiny, loving circles into his skin and his mouth barely even moves, it just is lightly pressed against his neck, a simple contact, nothing more.  
  
"Can I ask you something?" said mouth then asks, curling into a sad smile, which Castiel can tell by just the way the breathing against his neck changes. "Anything, Dean," he mumbles against Dean's temple, thumbs drawing semi-circles on the other man's cheeks.  
  
"Did - When you've been out, did you see, y'know, some...one?"  
  
"Dean," Castiel can hear himself sigh, tilting his own head back to look right at the other man. Their faces might no longer be touching, but Cas makes sure at least their hips are still connected, tightly pressed against one another just to feel that familiar kind of warmth run through his veins. "Of course I didn't," he whispers against Dean's lips, "I do not wish to have intercourse with anyone but you. Nor do I wish to feel anybody else's skin under my fingers."  
  
He gets a shocked, little gasp in response and Dean's lips pressing against his in a grateful kiss that fulfills every need Cas could possibly have in that very moment. His own hands find their way behind Dean's head, one sifting through his hair, the other one curling around his neck and pressing down.   
  
"Cas," Dean mutters, lips only barely parting since they're so tightly against Castiel's, and bunches Cas' shirt up in his hands, tugging on the cotton as if he wanted to tear it off to get his fingers on his skin again.  
  
Castiel's head is spinning from his vacillation.  
  
He wants to simply hold Dean in his arms until he can believe that this is reality again and be held in return because even he needs someone's arms embracing him to give him a little reassurance that life is not quite as dreadful as he sometimes tends to think it is.   
  
Dean's lips are insisting, pleading and shy all at the same time, searching his own for more points to connect their bodies at. "Cas."  
  
He wants to get Dean out of his stupid, slightly oversized shirt and pants and show him what his lack of witty, smart words can't prove. Just make Dean feel loved and wanted and beautiful once again, like he used to.  
  
A warm leg brushes his own thigh, draping itself across his hip, and then he can feel Dean's heel pressing into the small of his back. The lips that are still sealed to his remain gentle, though, and move just slowly. They don't express the same things as the rest of Dean's body, like his hands, which currently are running up and down his spine and immediately find all the spots that make a nerve-tingling shudder run through Castiel. "I missed you, I need you, Cas," Dean speaks into his mouth and the words feel so good all the way down his throat, Castiel can't help the happy, small sigh leaving his lips and brushing Dean's.   
  
There are so many things Castiel could tell Dean, so many secrets he could share with him, but all that eventually comes out is a barely audible, "I love you, Dean."  
  
"You mean that, don't you?"  
  
A small swish sounds as Dean moves back to rest the side of his head on his upper arm, looking at him with that kind of expression that makes Castiel want to take pictures with his hands and save those precious edges and lines on paper.   
  
"Yes, yes, I do," he assures Dean, one finger mapping out the pattern of freckles his hands nearly hadn't been able to remember the feeling of.   
  
Castiel doesn't know what trick Dean uses on him, he really doesn't, but just moments later he finds himself covering Dean from head to toe and kissing him hard enough for their teeth to ungracefully bump together. There are clumsy hands on his shoulder blades, bowlegs around his waist and soft lips pressed against his and it's all he could ever ask for. Because Dean, who has severe trust-issues and is scared of getting close to people, has told him everything there is to know about the man with eyes deep enough to make one feel like he's hitting rock bottom.  
  
There is absolutely nothing elegant about the way Dean drags the blanket out from between their chests to throw it over Castiel's back, nothing lithe in Cas' motions when he cups Dean's cheeks with his hands and kisses him with all he's got.   
  
And that's a lot.  
  
He's putting all his devotion, all his love, into that kiss, and then Dean's hands slide onto his own, fingers finding the spaces in between and squeezing hard. "Does that mean you forgive me completely?," he can hear Dean breathe underneath him as he pulls away for just a second to get some air back into his lungs.  
  
"Shut up, Dean," Castiel groans, using his knee to push himself upwards on the bed and closer to Dean, and leans down to slot their lips back together, which ends with Dean tossing his head back in surprise and Castiel's mouth catching the other man's throat instead.  
  
A soft, little "oh" falls from Dean's lips and his voice does that stupid thing where it cracks and crumbles as if Cas had done the most wonderful thing to him when really it was just an unintentional kiss in the right place.   
  
There is only so much Castiel can take and after literal weeks of being unable to see Dean, to  _touch_ him, the view of Dean looking at him the way he does right now is definitely more than that. Especially when he closes his eyes and gives a first, inquiring thrust of his pelvis against Cas' thigh. "Need you, Cas," he's told when green eyes fly open again and the colored circles of his irises are nothing more but faint halos around pitch black, lust-blown pupils.  
  
Before Castiel can do so much as respond, Dean tugs him down by the collar of his shirt and stresses that certain need with a desperate, sloppy kiss.   
  
Somehow his vision becomes blurry at the edges and everything zones in on Dean's face, then his broad shoulders and pectoral muscles, a stomach giving way to narrow hips and eventually the waistband of Dean's sweatpants. It's hot and messy and it's anything but graceful, but Dean has started grinding up against his leg in earnest now and the noises he makes, muffled into Castiel's shoulder because he can't afford Sam to hear, are outright sinful.  
  
"I c-can't," Dean gasps when Cas finally gives in to the pressure on his thigh and rolls his hips in one hard movement down to send a shiver of pleasure running through the body under him. It might not be the best Castiel could do, but it suffices to let Dean's hands hold onto his upper arms a little tighter.  
  
Everything is hot and because both Dean and him are still wearing sweatpants the temperature keeps increasing until Dean arcs his back to get a better angle and the blanket slides off their bodies.   
  
Thrusting his hips up to get more friction, Dean lets out an unhappy moan as the fabric of his underwear restrains his cock from tenting his pants even more. "Cas," is what falls off Dean's red, swollen lips like a mantra, and it stirs something deep inside Castiel, wakes something he didn't even know existed.  
  
"Dean," he rasps, fingers suddenly clenching around the other man's wrists and forcing them away, pinning them down beside his head. For a moment only, Dean's eyes are wide in veneration and his hips stutter, but then he seems to be able to focus on the task at hand. The kisses they share aren't sweet, they're hungry and biting and make Castiel want to have Dean screaming, but their hands are gentle, fingers interlocked with each other's.   
  
And then Castiel shifts until there's one of Dean's legs in between his thighs and stifles the groan he was about to let free at the sudden addition of friction by simply kissing Dean. A hoarse moan Dean emits comes to end in his mouth and cuts off his air supply.  
  
Castiel's hands don't move from where they're holding Dean's and no matter how hard he's trying, there's no way to stop either Dean or himself from dry humping the other's leg like teenagers, awkwardly and greedily attempting to get off without having to touch the other. But, God, does he want to touch.  
  
He  _wants_ to run his fingers on the flawless skin on the insides of Dean's thighs and he  _wants_ to make him shake violently by using just his tongue. All he can do for now, though, is grinding his own erection, which by now is nearly painful and screaming for release in the most human way possible, against Dean's leg in a way that has it occasionally brushing against Dean's crotch.   
  
The breath hitches in Dean's throat, eyes widening into a pair of surprised, green circles, and he digs his fingernails into the back of Castiel's hand, his rhythm of thrusts disturbed by an overwhelming jolt of pleasure if the look on his face is anything to give by. "Cas, please," he whimpers, "fuck,  _please._ "   
  
"Cas, telephone!" Sam shouts.  
  
He can already feel it, the warmth pooling inside him, preparing to be spilled any second now and pressing at the walls of his stomach. "Cas," Dean moans helplessly and hooks one leg around him to get him to move his hips again, which have stopped moving at Sam's interruption. With a shaking breath, Castiel gives one of Dean's hands free to place his own over Dean's mouth, quieting the needy whines.  
  
"You need to-"  
  
"Cas, telephone for you!" Sam's voice seeps into the room.  
  
"Mmmh nnrgh," Dean makes against his palm and gives a hard thrust against Castiel's leg that elicits a choked out gasp from his already parted lips.   
  
"Cas, telephone!"  
  
It's impossible and it's cruel, the way Castiel can feel that warmth disappear, slowly sinking back into his body and leaving him behind with uncomfortably tight pants, ragged breathing and flushed cheeks. "Fucking cock-block," Dean sighs as Castiel slides off him and stumbles over to the door, conscious enough to wrap himself in a dark-blue bathrobe.   
  
Before his fingers manage to reach the door handle, however, Dean's arms are around his middle and a neglected hard-on pressed up against his ass. "Need," a rough voice growls into his neck, puffs of breath ghosting along his collarbones. "Dean," Castiel murmurs and closes his eyes, but with Dean completely wrecked and frustrated and panting against his neck, it's not all that easy to find the strength to speak properly.  
  
"Telephone!" Sam yells, knocking on the door repeatedly.  
  
A throaty moan escapes Dean, partly stifled by Cas' skin, and his hips jerk forwards uncontrollably, causing Castiel to slam his hand on the wooden door not to crash face-first in it. "Dean," he hisses, swiveling around and pushing at the other man's shoulders, "I gotta take this call."  
  
Dean's eyes are restless and irresistably wide, flicking from Castiel's face to his tented pants, over to his hand that's resting on the door handle and eventually back to his eyes. "But," he mumbles, knees buckling lightly, and acknowledges him with a look of such sincere reproach, Cas wishes he could ignore the call.  
  
For a moment, both men stare each other down, breathing heavily in the space between their mouths, and while Dean returns to bed with a disgruntled huff, Castiel quickly rakes his hands through his hair to seem not quite as scatterbrained as he's actually feeling.   
  
Just a split second before Cas opens the door, he looks back at Dean, who's pulled the covers over his waist and lets his fingers dance impatiently over the soft fabric.  
  
"Don't finish without me."  
  
Dean just gives a hapless whine and tugs the blanket up to his shoulders, curling up in the duvet covers until all Cas can spot are a few strands of light-brown hair peeking out from the navy blue sheets.   
  
By the time Castiel takes the phone from a very uncomfortable-looking Sam, the caller is no longer on the line and he has to ring back. "Goddammit," he sighs and collapses into the kitchen chair, head coming to rest on the table plate. Couldn't the caller have waited for just two more minutes? Was that really too much to ask for?  
  
 _"Mr. Novak?"  
  
_ The sudden voice at the other end of the line startles Castiel and he flinches, chair scraping across the tiled kitchen floor. "Yes, hello, uh, I mean, hello," he greets awkwardly, rolling his eyes at his own fumble.   
  
 _"Mr. Novak, this is Rick Waterson, I assume you remember who I am?"_  
  
Waterson? The name rings a bell in Castiel's head, something about a job interview somwhere not Kansas, probably Nebraska. "The job interview?" he guesses vaguely, drumming his fingertips on his knee. Focussing on the man at the other end of the line is not easy considering he can full well imagine Dean doing all sorts of naughty things in his bed.  
  
The pictures of Dean on his back, head tipped back in a silent shout, and fucking his fist, of Dean riding his own fingers because he craves to feel full, flash up in Castiel's mind and make his fingers gip the edge of the kitchen table.  
  
 _"Exactly, Mr. Novak, I'm calling to inform you that you have been shortlisted for the job you applied for,"_ Mr. Waterson tells him and there's a small noise in the background, the buzzing of a printer probably. "Wow," Castiel makes dumbly, mind still desperately attempting to push fantasies of Dean in seductive positions away, "that's very nice, thank you." A formal, not truly amused sounding laughter follows his words before his counterpart says,  _"We will contact you as soon as we come to a decision, Mr. Novak. Have a nice day!"  
  
_ "Goodbye," Castiel replies, still somewhat overwhelmed with such good news this early in the morning, but Mr. Waterson has already ended the call.   
  
On his way back to the bedroom, Sam meets him halfway up the stairs, gives him a shy glance and is about to push past him when Cas announces, "I'm making breakfast in five minutes!" He can  _hear_ Dean before he can see him, scrambling out of bed and rushing to the door to poke his bedhead outside. "Breakfast?"   
  
Instead of an answer, Castiel closes the distance to the other man and dips his head to bury it in the crook of Dean's neck with an estatic sigh. "Everything okay, Cas?" Dean mutters, one hand automatically flying up to Castiel's back to soothe him with long, calming strokes, and even though they aren't necessarily required, they make him smile and lean completely into Dean.  
  
"More than okay," he murmurs into Dean's neck, carefully pushing at his shoulders until he can hear the other's back hit the door frame with a dull thud. "Cas?" But Castiel's insides are tingling from happiness, which is caused by simply everthing about his current situation. The unimportant noises Sam makes in the living room soon are blinded out by the small gasps he draws from Dean's lips as he kisses him boisterously, hands roaming all over him.  
  
Freckled cheeks. Messy hair.   
  
There are fingers on his waist, holding him tight, and lips moving against his with a well-known passion, but all Castiel can see is Dean, even behind closed eyelids.  
  
White teeth. Lopsided smirk.  
  
It doesn't take him long to fall in a trance, weightlessly pressing up against Dean, who's tilting his head to one side to allow his teeth to bite and his mouth to mark. The aim is no longer getting each other off, it's lasting longer than the other. Castiel is not angry with Dean about what happened, how could he be after everything he's been told in the past seven hours? Besides, he tiny bit of anger that might have been left is completely forgotten about when Dean's tongue starts exploring his mouth, wrestling with his own.  
  
"Guys, I'm still here," Sam complains as he heads back to his room, bitchface-mode on.  
  
In an instant, Dean pulls away with a breathless groan that leaves Castiel utterly discombobulated behind, breathing hard and rolling his eyes playfully at Dean, who copies him.  
  
They would have to wait for a better moment.  
  
  
**********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
Sexual frustration.  
  
Dean has never thought that  _sexual frustration,_ out of all things, would ever be something he'd have to struggle with. Fine, during the weeks of hating himself more than anything else he didn't actually have the  _urge_ to do something, but in his previous time with Cas - even outside of their actual relationship - has always been something to ease away the sexual tension that sparked whenever they locked eyes.  
  
But now, with Sam around almost 24/7 because Jess is on a roadtrip, Dean finds himself anything but amused by his little brother's company. They've tried everything, really, but the timing never fits.  
  
"Gonna shower!" Sam calls one morning, leaving the kitchen with a deafening yawn that actually should go down in history for its intensity. Cas is sitting across from Dean at the kitchen table, scrunched-up face hidden behind the newspaper he's currently skimming through rather languidly and fingers playing unintentionally with the edge of his pancake.   
  
Several times Dean had attempted to get him to have a friendly conversation with him just to avoid his little brother's mocking glances, but Cas is tired and needs a break from the constant traveling. At night, when Sam usually is in his room and fast asleep, Dean would try and talk Cas into something that would reward him with temporary bliss, but those blue eyes always drift shut in an instant and he gets an armful of tired Castiel instead - not that he's not totally in for that.  
  
"Hey, Cas, you still want those?" he asks, pointing at the other man's food with a wolfish grin.  
  
Slender fingers wave at him and just because he gets pancakes in return, Dean doesn't bother dwelling in wrath about Castiel's lack of interest in him at this very moment. Upstairs, he can hear the shower spray running and as much as the sound once has been calming, it now pumps adrenaline through Dean's veins and makes his heart hammer in his chest.  
  
His foot searches for Cas' under the table, toes carefully feeling for human skin, and when he finally does make contact, Castiel reaches for Dean's hand to squeeze it reassuringly. But the next second it's gone again to flip a page.  
  
From where Dean is sitting, he can tell without doubt that Cas is wobbling his leg again.  
  
A few minutes pass before Dean makes a decision. He slowly slides off the chair, making sure not to make the tiniest noise, but Cas is fully taken up by reading another few paragraphs of some article about the development of economy or something equally boring - nothing that Dean's endeavour couldn't easily top.  
  
It's a good thing he's wearing Castiel's sweatpants, the ones with ridiculously huge pockets, because they function at least as a thin layer between his knees and the tiled kitchen floor.  
  
Cas is still wobbling his leg, apparently completely oblivious to what his boyfriend is up to. "Alright," Dean whispers to himself and a smile makes its way onto his lips. He can't really remember the last time he did this.  
  
His touch is light, barely noticable, and since Cas is actually interested in what's going on in those factories that pollute their environment, he doesn't seem to realize there's fingers creeping up his thighs, determinedly reaching for his waistband. At the first touch of hot fingers on his stomach, he immediately jerks back, staring down at Dean while his features are an outright adorable mix of confusion, surprise and lust.   
  
"Dean?" Castiel asks tentatively, pupils already dilating.  
  
Before Dean answers, though, he crawls a little closer, in between Cas' already willingly parted thighs, and settles his hands on his knees. "Lean back, let me make this good for you." Without a second of hesitation, Castiel lets him take over, peppering the skin right above his waistline with kisses and massaging his hipbones.  
  
And even though Dean can tell Cas is  _trying_ not to get vocal, not even he can stop himself from letting a moan slip past his lips when Dean moves one hand to his crotch and adds just the right amount of pressure. "Dean," Cas hisses, fingers finding their way into his hair and holding onto the silky strands of light-brown as if they were the bit of steadiness he needs not to lose it.   
  
But, man, does Dean want him to lose it. Just for once Cas should come shouting his name, maybe tugging his hair.  
  
Today doesn't seem to be the day for it, though. Dean has just managed to get to do so much as slipping one hand down Castiel's pants that there are steps in the entrance hall and then Sam's voice, "So, get this - Jesus Christ, Dean!"   
  
Growling out a long-ass curse that Dean sadly probably won't be able to ever recite again, he uses Castiel's knees to push himself up and away from under the table. His little brother's eyes are wide and sweep down to the floor the second Dean turns to face him. "Uh, Sammy, look - I was just," he hurries to explain, but then he finds demanding hands on his hips, tugging him backwards until he all but stumbles and falls onto Cas' lap. "I was just," Dean mutters bashfully, voice reduced to a quiet mumbling because Cas has fucking dared to actually start  _squirming_ under him and he can feel  _every_  single goddamn inch of his body.  
  
It takes a whole lot of Dean not to laugh since the whole situation is hilarious, Sam walking in on him about to suck Cas off, he himself currently sitting more or less between Castiel's legs and Cas infinitesimally shifting to get the tiniest hint of friction on the gradually growing bulge in his pants.  
  
"I'm getting out of here!" Sam exclaims in sheer desperation, throws his hands dramatically in the air and exits the kitchen. "We should, too," Cas murmurs against the sensitive skin of Dean's neck. The words make him arc his back as a shudder runs down his spine and he's on his feet in just a blink. "Get into the car."  
  
"Where are we going, Cas?" Dean demands to know, damn near jogging down the stairs and to Castiel's Mercedes.  
  
"Don't ask stupid questions," comes the growled response once Cas manages to buckle his seatbelt without losing a finger in the process.  
  
If Dean wasn't concerned they might actually get into a car crash, he'd gladly give into the quick kisses Cas places on his lips throughout the whole ride. They make his lips tingle with anticipation and he's pretty sure that at some point his mouth will be red and raw from all the kissing, but he couldn't care less.  
  
"Seriously, Cas," Dean whispers as the other man lets go of the steering wheel and cups his cheeks at the first red traffic light they come across, "where are you taking me?"  
  
"Somewhere," Castiel breathes and that's it. The following few seconds are filled with more small kisses and by the time they have to pull away, Dean can just hope that 'somewhere' is within 10 minutes' reach because Cas' hand is resting on the inside of his thigh and has started stroking his leg through the denim of his jeans.  
  
At some point, Cas tells him to close his eyes and Dean immediately complies, eyes fluttering shut before Castiel can even turn his head to see whether Dean has followed his order.   
  
When the car stops after approximately two minutes on an uneven path, Castiel helps Dean out of the vehicle and leads the way, warm palms covering the other man's eyes just to make sure he's not sneaking a peek at the surrounding. "Cas," Dean whines, trying to shake his boyfriend's hands off. Because as much as he sometimes likes to be manhandled and told what to do, he's not too happy about being blind for the moment.  
  
"Patience, Dean," he's scolded, but Cas leaves a light kiss on the back of his neck to reassure him that everything is safe, that  _he_ is safe.  
  
The air around him smells like grass after a heavy downpour and resin, familiar somehow, and when the first timber pile creaks under his boots, Dean knows exactly where he and Cas are standing. "Keep your eyes shut," Cas mumbles, hands sliding off his eyes and to his hips, and guides Dean forwards, further into the cabin.  
  
A wide grin spreads across Dean's face, this kind of being shoved around is more than welcome.   
  
"Yes, sir," he purrs and the shocked gasp he gets in response is the blush creeping up his own cheeks more than fucking worth it. The hands on his hips tighten and push with more force now until all of a sudden they disappear and he's surprised by lips crashing against his own. Before he can do so much as kiss back, however, Cas sucks his lower lip into his mouth and doesn't give it free until Dean is making small, strangled noises in the back of his throat because his lip feels like it might fall off any second.  
  
"Your eyes stay closed," Castiel kisses into the swollen flesh of his lip, gently nipping on it.  
  
Even though Dean can't see a single damn thing, he's pretty positive his lip will be some shade of purple once he gets to see his reflection again.   
  
But then Cas withdraws himself from Dean, sneakily stepping out of his reach in a way that leaves him disoriented behind, arms instinctively searching for the other man's warmth. "Cas?" he asks tentatively. "This is not funny, Cas." And apparently Cas doesn't find it funny either because the very next heartbeat Dean finds himself toppling over and landing on the bed.  
  
Dean scrambles to get his knees under his stomach to at least kneel, but Castiel almost bluntly forces his hips back down and makes himself comfortable on Dean's back, fingers lightly massaging his shoulders.   
  
"I'm not a fucking horse," Dean complains, eyes long since open again, and turns to glare at Cas.  
  
"Of course you're not," the man on top of Dean agrees eventually, fingers pushing at the hem of his shirt before they proceed to slide up his chest, "I wouldn't do this to anyone else." Widening his eyes at the sudden intrusion in his shirt, Dean flinches, but when the first finger brushes over his nipple, he's gone.  
  
If you had to describe it, the scenario happening at this moment in Dean's life, in Castiel's life, is nothing but frantic hands clawing at the fabric of clothes, noises of impatience and gentle kisses where fingers can't express tenderness.   
  
And then it's over, there are no more layers of clothing to be torn off, and Dean can't help but arch his back when Cas trails a line of kisses down his spine, thumbs encircling Dean's nipples until the small buds are stiff and erect, yearning for any sort of touch.   
  
He can feel his fingers clench around the sheets, moans of pleasure stifled by the pillow Dean presses his face deeply into, and Castiel must feel the same way because he's stopped pressing kisses to the dimples at the bottom of Dean's spine and now is purposefully stretching over Dean's back to snatch the bottle of lube from the usual drawer of the nightstand.   
  
A sick thrill rushes through Dean at the thought of being unable to see Cas, of having to trust him to a whole new level.  
  
The entire moment feels just like the first time Dean has ever gotten to see Castiel naked, but when a whispered, "I love you, I missed you," brushes his ear and sweeps straight through his heart, Dean is goddamn happy everything changed significantly.  
  
"I love y-," he begins to mumble, but is cut off by two slick fingers running down the cleft of his ass and nudging at his entrance. Without thinking about possible inconveniences, Dean pushes his hips back and sucks in a surprised breath as one digit slides in with barely any resistance.   
  
While Cas stretches him out, fingers pumping in and out of him steadily and scissoring him open, Dean finds his legs trembling and his toes already curling. His breath is coming out staccato, wrecked, and the fact that Cas' mouth is doing its very best to color his neck red and purple with bruises doesn't really help him to hold in the needy, little sounds. "So beautiful," Castiel's voice speaks into his ear, teeth grazing it just for a split second, and before Dean can object, the two fingers inside him press down and the pleasure becomes  _insane._  
  
Muffled gasps fall from his swollen lips, seeping into the bedding, and he rocks his hips back against Cas' fingers with force. For now, Dean manages to keep his arms from collapsing, but when there's three fingertips jabbing at his prostate almost constantly, barely ever leaving, his entire body is shaken to its bones.   
  
"Fuck," Dean breathes, spreading his knees wider to stabilize his quaking legs, "Cas."  
  
As if to prove his presence, Castiel allows his cock to glide between Dean's legs, which he nearly immediately attempts to close, but finds himself stopped by his boyfriend's leg. Slowly, the fingers start pulling out of Dean, brushing the walls of his channel in all the right places as they leave, and Dean's hips follow the motion out of an instinct. "Need," he believes he can hear himself whimper, but that might have as well been imagination.  
  
Fortunately, Cas takes pity on him and pushes his fingers back inside just once more with an obscene squelching sound. Dean's head drops forward, shaking breaths slipping out of between his lips and nails digging into the mattress.  
  
Then, all of a sudden, the hand is gone and all he can hear is the sound of that certain hand on Castiel's cock and he's never been more jealous of a fucking palm. The soft, little sighs Cas makes on purpose go straight to Dean's own erection, which by now is aching and demanding to be taken care of.  
  
His own hand reaches down between his legs, driven by the sudden overwhelming urge of relief, but before he can revel in the feeling of a first, good stroke, Cas pushes at the back of his neck, forcing him down, and Dean has to place both hands beneath his head.  
  
A not very honest apology is already dangling off Dean's lips, but Cas has lined his cock up with his hole and the tip keeps threatening to breach him. "Please." And, God, does Dean hate the way his voice sounds. So desperate and shattered and greedy.  
  
The movements stop, just for a second, and then a sound Dean never even had considered to be within his lung's capacity rips through his throat, dying on the way out because he somehow needs to breathe through the jolt of pleasure and pain that's just been sent up his back and blinds his vision. He can only sense the smug smirk Cas is wearing as he lowers his lips to Dean's neck. "Love those sounds," he whispers and the way he says it makes the words sound like he was confessing a sin.  
  
Never before has make-up sex, if you could call it that, left Dean this breathless.  
  
"S-so this is," he manages to choke out finally, sweaty hands close to slipping on the silky sheets, "make-up sex then?" Castiel's hips barely move, he just gives shallow thrusts of his pelvis, fingers leaving imprints on Dean's waist.  
  
"If you want it to be."  
  
Dean moans his affirmation instead of actual words when Cas picks up his pace, cock plunging deeper inside Dean, whose muscles contract at every thrust. "Usua - usually 's rough," he slurs, limbs shaking with the effort of not giving in under the forceful intrusion of Cas.   
  
The warm fingers of one hand sift through Dean's hair and take a hold of the strands. "Rough? You like that?" With odd satisfaction, Dean notices the quiver in the other man's voice and the way it catches in his throat. The "yes" never leaves Dean's lips, and the only reason is Castiel yanking his head back with one jerky motion that has Dean seeing stars tumble from the sky.  
  
A garbled noise is all that manages to make its way out of his mouth before the fabric of the pillowcase tears and Dean's hands lose their grip. There are still fingers tangled in his hair, but all Dean can do is lie there and just take what Cas gives him because his hands have full on surrendered and are just twitching with the want to be fisted in something.  
  
"Cas," Dean gasps into the mattress, "Cas."  
  
Only when Castiel moves his hand to cover Dean's, he can breathe properly again. His fingers clench around Castiel's, squeezing hard enough to express the intense pleasure he's indulging in because his vocal cords make the totally manly groans sound like whimpers.   
  
As Cas leans over Dean's back to go back to kissing his neck, Dean angles his hips into a position that has Cas' cock nailing his prostate with brutal precision and he cries out, broken voice suffocated by the pillow again.   
  
He can feel himself being stretched, the loving lips on his skin, and he can see Castiel's thumbs slowly stroking the back of his hands, but when he's fucking _moved up_ on the bed because his boyfriend is mercilessly pounding into him, none of that seems to matter; especially not when Cas  _finally_ wraps one of those wonderful hands of his around Dean's cock and lets him fuck into it.  
  
So Dean focusses on the tiny spark of heat inside him, chases it and barely has the time to mewl something incoherent involving Cas' name and about thousand different ways of saying "I love you" before his orgasm punches every last bit of air out of his poor lungs. Sticky spurts of come paint the sheets and Dean's chest, feeling like snow on his superheated skin. Every nerve of his body throbs, sends shivers down his legs and makes his heart pulsate behind his eyelids when Dean blinks dozily.  
  
Cas' hips are still snapping forward and each brush of his cock against Dean's abused and overstimulated prostate makes him groan and tremble. There is nothing Dean can do to help Castiel when he eventually finds his release and marks Dean's insides like he did with his outsides. All his body manages to do is clench around the other man to milk every last drop of come from him.  
  
"Maybe," Cas sighs exhaustedly against Dean's neck once both man are at least scantily cleaned up, "maybe we should fight more often."  
  
With a tired chuckle, Dean allows Castiel to rest his head on his upper arm and curl up against his side, which is quite the contrary to what they usually do, but any sort of cuddling sounds good to Dean right now. "But can you leave hickeys on lips?" he suddenly asks, tugging on his lip just to find it tingling and burning. "Because I think you friggin' did, Cas."  
  
"My apologies," comes the yawned response, followed by two fingers lazily tracing the outline of his lower lip, "I was unaware."  
  
Of course this is the moment in which Dean's phone decides to go off, cutting through the comfortable silence of the cozy bubble Dean and Castiel had hidden in. "Son of a  _bitch,_ " Dean whines and nearly dislocates his shoulder to grab his phone from the floor, hands cluelessly roaming over the ground.  
  
 **New picture message from: Jamie  
View now?  
  
** "Ah, Cas, wanna laugh?" Dean grins, angling the phone to let Cas have a better look at it. "No, that's private," Cas, however, replies and glances innocently up at the ceiling, hands folded on his stomach, a little below his ribcage. "C'mon don't be prissy!"   
  
"What's a snapchat?" Cas suddenly asks, peering down at Dean's phone screen in confusion. Without mentioning that it had been  _Cas_ who didn't want to look, Dean opens the application, taps the most recent message and waits until the picture flashes up.  
  
It shows Jamie and Cindy, all cuddled up under the covers and Jamie's sticking out his tongue at the camera.  **Guess who's got a hot lay?** Dean snorts out a dry laugh, jamming his elbow playfully into Cas' side and shifting to be a tiny bit closer. "You think we can beat it?"  
  
But Castiel is outright glaring at Dean's phone and wants to know, "Where did the picture go?"  
  
"I'll explain that later, just, uh, c'mere," Dean instructs and opens his arms for Cas to snuggle up to him, which he does, still squinting at the phone warily. "And now?" Cas asks once Dean has made sure to kiss the breath his lungs just had regained right back out.   
  
"Now," Dean mumbles, turning on the front cam, "we're gonna send this douche a selfie." Cas makes an unhappy noise and lets his eyes sweep up at the camera, "I don't - I look weird."   
  
The words hit Dean some place really deep inside, burning like daggers in an infected wound. "No, hey, Cas, c'mon, don't say that. You - you look friggin' gorgeous, man, alright?" He doesn't get a response, but when Castiel turns on his back and allows Dean to take a picture of them, Dean knows everything is okay again and he even goes as far as getting Castiel to pull a few weird faces for the camera.  
  
 **I do** he puts as text and sends the first picture to Jamie, laughing about the fact that Cas had been pulling up the blanket to his chin in every snapshot like a fucking maiden.  
  
Dean doesn't think he's ever been as happy as he is right now, especially not when Castiel does that absolutely adorable thing where his eyes go completely wide before he falls asleep like a drugged, little kid.  
  
  
*********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
"Where's the fucking milk, Dean?" Sam yells, trying to swallow his cereal without milk.  
  
"Dunno what you're talking about," Dean shrugs it off and empties the milk into a coffee cup, stirring twice. "Jerk," his little brother cusses, putting his cereal bowl back onto the counter and grabbing his backpack from the floor.  
  
"Bitch," he shouts after Sam as his brother sweeps out of the room to find Cas and rant before going to school.  
  
After various long and exhausting discussions with both Castiel and Sammy, Dean has managed to convince them that it would be best for everyone if he dropped out of college and got a job at his uncle Bobby's car repair shop because he strictly declined Cas' offer to pay Sam's future college debts.   
  
"That's really dumb," Cas had frowned, crossing his arms over his chest, and Dean simply had said, "Seems like you're in love with a loser." He's pretty sure a few seconds later the conversation has ended with Cas kissing him so hard, he damn near flew off the couch.  
  
Sam hasn't been happy about Dean giving up his education just for his sake as he put it, but Dean, to his own surprise, had actually been looking forward to working with Bobby more and getting his hands on engines and tires and ignitions and  _yes.  
  
_ The first days had been tiring and he couldn't afford more than a few lazy kisses with Cas in those evenings, but now everything seems to reach a plateau and Dean loves coming home and smearing his still partly oil-stained hands over Castiel's face to hear him curse.  
  
Usually, Cas is helping Sam with his homework when Dean steps inside the entrance hall and it feels a whole lot more like family than living with John ever has.   
  
"Honey, I'm home!" he likes to singsong and it never fails making Cas shake his head in amusement and Sam roll his eyes at his big brother. Sam has started attending a therapy group twice a week and with every day passing Dean believes to find his eyes weakly beginning to twinkle again.  
  
Of course not everything is perfect.  
  
One day when he comes home, Cas is sitting at the kitchen table and angrily stares at a paper sheet in his hands as if he would very much like to tear it into thin shreds. "What's bugging you?" Dean asks carefully, leaning into Castiel's side and dropping his tool belt to the floor. And, wow, whatever it is, Cas obviously is  _really_ unhappy about it because he doesn't even lift his head to tell him to pick up the belt.  
  
"Give me that," Dean decides when Cas just lets out a dejected sigh, tugging the paper out of between Castiel's fingers.  
  
Before he can read the first line, though, Cas mumbles, "Letter of refusal."  
  
And Dean lets Cas explain why the job would have been so convenient for him. The university he'd send the application to is in Nebraska and he wouldn't have to move, the revenue would have been amazing and apparently Cas had fallen in love with the building there. "You're too smart for them anyway," Dean attempts to cheer Castiel up.  
  
The first time Dean manages to make Cas laugh that day is when he forgets to bring a towel for showering and has to shout, "C'mon, Cas, stop being a primadonna and bring me a towel. Please. Cas, please, this is really fucked up, you know?"  
  
But apart from a few bad days, everything runs smoothly, Sam reminds Cas to have the water spotting in the spare room removed, which he totally forgot about since Dean pretty much moved into his room, and they spend a whole Saturday with buying furniture for Sam.  
  
At some point, Cas approaches Dean when Sam is out of the house for school and Dean has just begun whipping up breakfast for himself. "Dean?" he mumbles, slinging his arms around Dean's waist from behind and resting his chin on his shoulder, so he can watch him move the bacon around in the pan.  
  
"Hmm?"   
  
"Don't you think it's time for you to, you know," Cas presses a gentle kiss to his jaw, "get your clothes out of those boxes?" Dean allows his head to loll back against his boyfriend's shoulder with a soft sigh. "And where would I put 'em?"  
  
He can hear the bacon frizzle in the pan and knows he should probably take care of that, but then Cas starts speaking again. "There's more than enough space in my closet. If - I mean - if you want to."  
  
"You know, Cas," he dodges, scraping the spatula across the teflon surface, "I'm not really good at making commitments."  
  
"Then what do you call your toothbrush next to mine?" Cas retorts flatly.  
  
The snarky comment Dean had prepared dies before it makes its way out of his mouth and he scratches tiny circles into the sizzling oil. "It's just kind of surprising, you know, Cas?" No one has  _ever_ been this important to Dean, not one single person means as much as Castiel does, and when blue eyes beam at him with that fucking kicked-puppy-look, he can't help but give in and smile, "Alright, thanks."  
  
They don't talk about the fact that by sharing a closet Dean's shirts sometimes slip in between Castiel's or about those days when neither of them can find matching socks because Cas had been tired the evening before and put the wrong ones together. More than just once Cas wakes up from Dean cursing under his breath because the shirt he pulled out in a hurry belongs to Cas and is one size too small.  
  
Living together brings many advantages, like getting to see each other every day, sharing a bed without having to go home and sleep alone the next day, waking up next to each other and discovering small details about the other. Dean, for example, figures out Castiel's secret love for sushi, which really isn't something anyone should be ashamed of.  
  
But on the other hand sharing a bedroom means not having the space to avoid the other one after a fight, so usually it's Dean who has to crawl back to Cas and mutter an apology.  
  
And despite the occasional fighting and bickering, neither Dean nor Cas would want it any other way.  
  
  
**********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
"Can someone pass me a wrench?"   
  
Dean stares up at the underside of the Ford Mustang he's currently stuck under, skateboard digging into his back, and wonders where the hell his wrench disappeared to.  
  
Just a few minutes ago, when he returned from his break, it had been dangling from his tool belt, right next to an oil-stained cloth. "Benny?" he shouts, waving from under the car at his co-worker, who's bent over the engine hood of a dented Saab.  
  
"What's the problem, brother?" Benny's voice rumbles.  
  
"My wrench evaporated and I gotta -" before Dean can finish describing his problem, a heavy, metallic object is placed in his outstretched hand. "Uh, thanks, Benny," he murmurs, sliding back under the car to fix the engine sump. Out of some kind of coincidence, America's entire popluation seems to have decided that  _today_ would be a great opportunity to have their cars repaired and, yes, Dean knows he should be grateful for every car he gets to fix since that means more money on his savings account, but it means more work at the same time.  
  
And no matter how much he loves his job at Singer's Salvage Yard, it's exhausting nonetheless.  
  
September has brought a last wave of heat in its wake and with the first trees starting to lose their leaves, Lawrence has beautiful places to show off and Dean would enjoy the way everything comes alive one last time if it wasn't for the sweat trickling down the side of his head right now.  
  
The wrench is on the brink of slipping out of his fingers and he honestly has no idea how to survive today because after this car, there's about three more waiting for him. "This is torture," he whines, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead.  
  
"Dean," Benny chuckles and he can hear his co-worker move around, tools scraping across metal.  
  
"You know what, this is just, uh," Dean pushes himself off with his feet and slides out from under the Mustang, groaning as he has to shield his eyes from the last few escapists of rays of sun, "yeah, torture." Somehow he didn't notice the third pair of boots keeping Benny and him company and nearly falls of his skateboard when a gruff voice sounds, "Idjit."  
  
Bobby is standing above him, glaring at him from under the visor of his cap, and even though his mouth is a flat line, the partly hidden eyes shine with a fatherly fondness Dean had always been searching for in John's eyes. "I'm just gonna, you know, go back to work," he states, jerking his tumb at the car and proceeding to adjust the skateboard.  
  
"Can't believe you can't read the darn clock," Bobby grumbles, tapping his watch.   
  
"My shift is not even over, I just had my break," Dean argues and sits up on his skateboard to look at the other man from a more comfortable angle. "D'you know how long you've been working on this car? For three hours." _That's not possible, I'm not that slow._ "You sure this isn't Benny you're talking about?" he jokes feebly.  
  
"And what even have you been doin' under the car?" Bobby now wants to know.  
  
Dean cocks a questioning brow. "Fixing the engine sump?"  
  
"Goddamn idjit, you were supposed to change the tires! Look, I don't know what's been going on with you lately, but I ain't gonna let you ruin every single darn car I let you work on, got that?" Tires? No one ever said something about tires, Dean is 100 percent sure he had been instructed to repair the engine sump. Or maybe Bobby is right and he's been daydreaming again. "Sorry, I'm gonna exchange the-"  
  
"Go home, Dean," Bobby sighs, tapping the bill of his cap with two fingers.  
  
"What? No, my shift isn't over and I can't just go home. I - just let me fix it, yeah?"  
  
He turns to cast Benny a pleading look, rasing his shoulders as though saying 'support me, you son of a bitch', but his co-worker just shrugs and mumbles, "Maybe you should take today off, get your thoughts straight, brother."  
  
"Thanks for backstabbing me," Dean complains, tossing the wrench over at Benny.  
  
It's not like Dean is doing it on purpose, thinking about Castiel, it just happens and when it does, there is pretty much nothing he can do to stop it. The thoughts usually vanish as quickly as they occur to him, but sometimes they just keep floating through his mind and remind him of the gorgeous smile he's allowed to go home to.  
  
At some point in his life, when touches would've stopped setting him aflame and would just gently warm him, Dean would be used to all that, but for now, he can't restrain himself from grinning like stupid whenever blue eyes flash up in his mind's eye.   
  
So maybe going home early and getting to spend the rest of the day with Cas, who's still job-hunting like crazy, isn't actually for the worst. "Fine," Dean surrenders as Bobby gives a nod in direction of the exit, "I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
Benny and Bobby mumble something under their breaths and while Dean tosses his tool belt into the backseat of his baby, the other two men laugh about a joke he probably never will get to hear.   
  
Time nearly flies by and when Dean is trudging up the stairs to Castiel's house, he realizes they will have a couple hours of much needed alone-time before Sam, who's attending therapy today, would come home and spread his nerd-stuff out on every table. Dean reaches into his jeans pocket to retrieve the key Cas got made for him, but before he can even lift the key to the lock, the door swings open and he's blinded by the brightest light he's ever seen.  
  
"Jesus Christ!" he groans, stumbling around for mere seconds until the tiny black spots stop dancing in front of his eyes. "Hello, Dean," Cas greets cheerfully, fiddling with something around his neck. "Okay, hello, Cas, but why the hell would you buy that?"  
  
Glancing down at the polaroid camera dangling heavily on his chest, Castiel fans out the photograph to let it dry faster.  
  
"This was a very useful purchase, Dean," he declares and smiles at the picture with such adoration in his eyes, Dean doesn't even want to try and pretend to be angry. "Let me see," he grins instead and stands on his toes to peer over Castiel's shoulder.  
  
"A very charming picture," Cas whispers and lifts the polaroid to allow Dean to give it a closer look. "Charming? I look like a douchebag," Dean snorts, raking his eyes over the picture, his widened eyes, the oil stains gracing his cheekbones and bangs and the last hints of a ridiculously lovestruck grin tracing his lips. "No," Cas simply says, turns around and takes another picture.  
  
Dean shies away with an unhappy snarl, covering his eyes, and whines, "Don't do that!"  
  
But Cas, the sneaky bastard, takes Dean's wrists in his hands, forcing them down until he's revealed enough of the other man's face to press a kiss to his lips. "Cas," Dean sighs and his hands, which have been struggling against Castiel's tight grip, go completely slack.  
  
"Another nice picture, Dean, look," Castiel whispers against his cheek, slowly pulling away to show him the new snapshot. "Cas, that's literally just my fucking eyebrows!"  
  
Crinkles appear on Cas' forehead as he takes a look of his own at the picture, which, honestly, just shows a close-up view of Dean's eyebrows and half his eyes.   
  
"Well, it's still...nice," Castiel chuckles, shoving the polaroid to the first one into his pocket.  
  
He immediately lifts the camera again, but this time Dean is prepared and he whips around, fleeing to hide in the bathroom. "Taking a shower!" he shouts, racing up the stairs, Cas right on his coat-tails and utterly determined to take another snapshot.   
  
Somehow he manages to slip past the threshold and gets his arms around Dean's middle, clinging to him like Sam did when he was about six years old and tried to keep Dean from leaving him at home. "Cas," Dean laughs, twisting his shoulders until he's put a wristlock on Castiel, "I'm gonna take a shower now because I'm gross and you are not taking another picture of me. No way."  
  
"But-"  
  
"No," Dean repeats, purposefully dipping his head to scrub his cheek over Cas' shirt. "Oh, Dean, you know I don't know how to get these stains out!" Cas bitches and moves his feet to stand on Dean's toes, head rolling back until his back his arched towards Dean's chest.  
  
"I know," he sneers, fingers gently stroking Cas' wrists, "that's why you're gonna let me take a shower. I'll show you later?"  
  
Castiel closes his eyes, tilting his head to let his lips brush Dean's neck, and mumbles huskily, "Or I could join you and we clean up together?" The lips on his neck curl into a devious smirk and Cas uses one second of Dean's slipping facade to twirl around, take a step back and release the shutter. "Goddammit, Cas!" Dean growls, rubbing his eyes.  
  
"Oh," sounds the other man's voice, completely taken aback.  
  
When Dean's vision has stabilized for what's the third time within 15 minutes by now, he can see Castiel staring down at the polaroid in his hands, lips parted around shallow breaths.  
  
"That bad?" he jokes, leaning in slightly to catch a glimpse at Cas' latest masterpiece, but Cas turns away, drawing his shoulders up to keep Dean's eyes off the photograph. "Cas, don't act up," Dean nags. "Dean, if only you knew how incredibly - how - God," Castiel breathes, shaking his head.  
  
"You're so beautiful, Dean."  
  
And when Cas eventually does face him again, his features show nothing but genuine, unconditional love and that fully suffices to scare Dean because there is someone in his life, who is caring and kind and wonderful to a point where Dean can't even begin to describe his own affection for this man.  
  
"You know, Cas," he murmurs, fingers reaching out to carefully place Castiel's camera on the shelf, "I love you."  
  
For a long, long while Dean just stands there, in the middle of the bathroom, and presses himself as tightly against Cas as it will go to prove his words. Somewhere between gentle strokes of hands through hair and shared looks, Castiel says the words back, hushed into Dean's ear because they're only meant for him.  
  
  
**********************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
Dean wants to stab Cas.   
  
He wants to stab him and throw himself into the fiery pits of hell because that surely wouldn't burn half as much as his cheeks do right now.  
  
Sam is sitting across from him at the kitchen table because today there's a huge staff meeting at his school and all Freshmen and Sophomores have the day off. Now, his little brother is enthusiastically shoveling leftover pizza from the day before into his mouth and listening to Dean talk to Cas on the phone.  
  
 _"So, do we need some?"  
  
_ "Yes," Dean growls, covering his face with one palm, the fingers of his other hand squeezing his phone hard. He can hear Cas shove the cart around. To be completely honest, Castiel had made quite a scene about going to the supermarket since he wasn't really used to going grocery shopping.   
  
Sam and Dean had rolled their eyes simultaneously at each other.  
  
"What do you mean you don't know what I'm talking about?" Dean hisses as Cas replies. His little brother's eyes glance up at him for a second before he dedicates himself to his late breakfast again. "Just - listen, Cas, no - just buy it!" he exclaims in desperation.  
  
"No, whoa, don't do that. Cas. No, no, I'm serious, Sam is here," he stammers, pushing Sammy's grinning face into the pizza.   
  
Dean lets his fingertips dance over the polaroid pictures stacked on the table plate, where during dinner time Castiel's plate would be. Cas had spent far too much money on buying instant color films for his new camera and took great joy in chasing Dean through the house and front garden, trying to corrupt him with pie. Dean, however, had managed to take a few pretty great pictures of Cas while he's been taking a nap on the couch after a trip to another university.  
  
"Cas, this is really messed up, I - yes, I love you, but - What? No, Cas," Dean whines, shifting uncomfortably in his chair because Sam has stopped eating entirely now and is watching his face go red. Under other conditions, with Sam in his room or just anywhere but here, Dean wouldn't have a problem with saying this at all, but now...  
  
 _"I thought we needed it,"_ Cas speaks at the other end of the line, wolfish grin more than audible.  
  
"We do, but I can't - Yes, we need some, Cas, how many times do I have to repeat it? Lube, Cas, we need lube is that what you fucking wanted?" Dean snarls into the microphone. "Oh, wow, Cas, really, that's just fucked up, Sam left the room."  
  
A loud laugh coming from Cas makes the shame that damn near singed his face diminish into an embarrassed burn, but Dean still doesn't really feel like looking Sammy in the eyes ever again.  
  
About ten minutes after he'd ended the call with an "I will kill you later, just so you know," that didn't even sound angry to Dean's own ears, Cas calls  _again._ "No," Dean snaps the second he answers the call. _"I love you, Dean, I really love you."_ Those few words never fail to make his heartbeat falter for at least a split second and he doubts he will ever get used to hearing it.    
  
 _"But I'm calling to ask you to pick me up from the store,"_ Dean's boyfriend continues talking then, and his mood instantaneously drops. "Cas, the store is about 5 minutes from home!" An exasperated sigh follows his words as well as the rustling of a bag in the background.   
  
 _"Please? I bought a lot of ingredients for food and also...dish soap, about 5 bottles, so we won't run out any time soon."  
  
_ "That - that's great, Cas," Dean snickers, screwing his eyes shut, "but we have a dishwasher, you know that, right?" For a while, Cas simply ceases speaking and Dean can totally imagine him staring at the grocery bag and squinting at the multiple dish soap bottles as if they were the most disgusting thing in the world.  
  
 _"I'll do the thing you like so much if you pick me up,"_ Cas suddenly whispers, voice barely louder than a brush of air.  
  
"You can't just say shit like that in public, Cas," Dean lectures him, biting down on his lip because he knows  _exactly_ what Cas is talking about.  _"Dean, I demand -"  
  
_ "Give me four minutes," Dean interrupts and ends the call, rushing out of the front door before Sam can come back and interrogate him like the freaking lawyer-to-be that he is.  
  
He makes it to Cas in two minutes, moving the window down as he stops the Impala with creaking tires. "Someone need a ride?" he grins, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. Castiel's face lights up immediately and he attaches his lips to Dean's before he goes to stow the grocery bags in the trunk.  
  
"Thanks for coming," he says while he buckles his seatbelt and casually threads his fingers through Dean's to settle their entwined hands on his thigh. "Sure," Dean replies slowly, eyes drawn down to where their fingers are interlaced.  
  
Dean has long since memorized the structure of Castiel's palms and probably that's the only reason why he notices there's something different about his hand today.   
  
"Are you alright, Cas?" he asks tentatively, pulling into the street.  
  
"Yes, I just accidentally - uh - cut my finger on a pineapple, I don't know, I don't like those." And Dean bursts out laughing, leaning over to taste the almost shy chuckle he's so in love with. Lazy kisses are exchanged on the way to the first traffic light and because fate is rude, someone, who just this once can't be his boyfriend, makes his phone blast out its annoying ringtone.  
  
"Ignore it, Cas," he begs, lips searching for skin, for anything, but Castiel has already snatched his phone from the dashboard and knits his brows.   
  
"Bobby calling," Cas reads out, offering the phone to Dean.  
  
 _"You idjit, you forgot your darn wallet. C'mere and get it 'cause I ain't driving over to you, so hurry,"_ Bobby starts ranting, disgruntled noises included to stress his obvious unamusement. Dean blinks up at Cas, watching him absently fiddle with his collar, before he answers, "Be there in a blink, Bobby."  
  
This might be what he's been waiting for since he's been starting to have interest in people. Sure, at first it had been girls that he introduced to his family in his dreams, but now, here, today, he might be able to resolve that thick bundle of anxiety John had dropped into his stomach in his leave and use that string to strengthen Castiel's and his bond.  
  
"Shouldn't we bring the groce-"  
  
"Cas, it's time you meet my family," he jauntily butts in, revving the engine and holding the other man's hand tighter.  
  
It doesn't matter that Bobby has no single damn clue about Dean's sexual preferences, it's not like he would care too much, because he's always been there for Sammy and him and he's pretty sure Bobby would do something heartwarming like nod.  
  
Castiel has a slight panic attack and attempts more than just once to take a hold of the steering wheel and get Dean to turn the car around. He even goes as far as joggling the door handle in order to blackmail Dean, but finds the car door locked.   
  
And by the time Dean pulls the car into the driveway of Singer's Salvage Yard, Cas is a mess, hands restlessly carding through his hair, leg wobbling harder than ever in the footwell area.  
  
"Cas, it's gonna be just fine, we just go in there, get my wallet, say 'Hi, this is Cas' and go home because you owe me," Dean chatters, clambering out of his car and lovingly shutting the door to the driver's seat. He doesn't want his baby to become flawed after all.  
  
To his utter surprise, Bobby is outside the house, puttering around on an old, rusty car. "Bobby?" Dean calls and the second the word leaves his mouth, Castiel's fingers close viselike around his hand, squeezing and pressing until Dean can feel his blood staunch. "Ah, Dean, your wallet and - who are you?"  
  
"Cas - I'm, Dean, uh, Castiel."  
  
Turning to his nephew, Bobby raises his brows and smacks once. "Who's that?"  
  
A heavy tremor runs up Dean's arm and as he lets his eyes sweep over at Cas, he can see his boyfriend is staring straight at the ground, shudders shaking his whole body nearly violently. His cheeks are pale, whereas his lips stand out gloriously pink from how hard he's been biting down on them.  
  
"Bobby," Dean begins solemnly, "this is Castiel, Cas."  
  
His uncle studies both of them closely, scrunching up his face in all sorts of ways, but when his gaze finally drops to Dean's hand, that Cas still has got in a death-grip, his features light up in understanding. "He's my boyfriend," Dean clarifies and gives a light tug to haul Castiel closer.  
  
"Pleasure to meet you, uh, Mr. Singer," Castiel awkwardly attempts to smile.  
  
"Just Bobby," Bobby grumbles, forcefully patting Cas' shoulder, and Dean is afraid for a second Castiel's knees might give in, but then he hears, "I will keep it in mind, Mr. Bobby," and that's just fucking hilarious.  
  
Even his uncle can't help but snort.  
  
All the tension, all the fear, is taken off Dean's shoulders and he feels so  _light,_ so  _free,_ so  _good,_ when the corners of Bobby's mouth twist into a crooked smile and he asks, "So since this is clear now, could you get your darn wallet, idjit?" Cas looks slightly shocked at the harsh tone of the older man, but actually keeps his thoughts to himself. "You, c'mon, too," Bobby growls at Castiel, "gotta show you somethin'."  
  
"Uh.."  
  
"Move, idjit," Bobby demands and eventually just presents Castiel the latest car he's fixed, fingers flying over the polished door handle to wipe a fly away. "So, Bobby," Dean addresses his uncle after Cas has returned to the Impala, staggering through the exit on wobbly legs, "you cool with this?"  
  
" 'course I am, Dean. As long as it makes you happy."  
  
And, yes, dear Lord, that's what Castiel Novak does. He makes Dean happy.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Life hasn't always been nice to Dean Winchester.  
  
His own father had disowned him, beaten him, ruined him and scarred him. His brother had attempted suicide and had been too innocent for all the bullshit life had thrown at them. His mother had died far too early and he himself had been struggling with tons of things.  
  
But now, now Dean is sitting across from the man who saved him from his thoughts, who had been the antidote to the poison John had injected into his veins.  
  
"There's a term for this, you know?" Dean mumbles into his cup of coffee.  
  
Castiel slowly places his toast back on his plate, his foot rubbing against Dean's ankle with a calming steadiness. A quiet chuckle escapes Dean before he can stop it. "What?" his boyfriend asks then.  
  
"This," he grins, trapping Cas' foot between his legs.  
  
"Breakfast?"  
  
It's utterly endearing that Cas honestly doesn't seem to remind a conversation they had months ago in a restaurant, on Dean's birthday. "No, it's called," Dean bites his tongue, frantically thinking of the word he'd looked up for this talk, "redamancy."  
  
"Redamancy?" Castiel repeats, leaning across the table to steal a few kisses from Dean while Sam still is under the shower.   
  
"Yes," Dean declares proudly, "it's the feeling of reciprocated love."  
  
And then Castiel's eyes go wide, shining with just the thinnest layer of tears, and he caresses Dean's cheeks with his hands, the pad of his every finger. Their faces are only mere millimeters apart and Dean can count every single one of his boyfriend's eyelashes, can see that his lips are beautifully chapped again.  
  
The possibility of kissing remains throughout the beaming, but neither of them is willing to destroy the connection materializing between them. Especially not when Castiel pulls a little further back and Dean can see his face in its entirety.  
  
Nobody has ever looked at Dean the way Cas does.  
  
  
 _~fin_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say final chapter? Well, yeah, it is, but I'm already working on the epilogue, so stay tuned! c:


	22. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Dean and Cas get to be happy because God knows I need it more than anything :c

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, yes, it took me ages again, I know, my apologies :c

_3 years later, Clinton, Iowa_  
  
  
  
"Dean."  
  
A soft voice filters down to him, tearing a hole into the thick veil sleep had thrown over his back to give Dean time to let him have a good night's rest. "Dean, wake up," Castiel whispers quietly, padding around in the room impatiently. Dean's limbs are heavy, feeling like they're chains entrenching the rest of his body in the mattress.  
  
"Mmh," he hums and keeps his eyes closed as he turns his head in the direction of Cas' steps, numb fingers pulling the blanket tighter around him.  
  
The other man's footsteps stop beneath his head, a warm hand brushes his temple. "Open your mouth, Dean," Castiel demands.  
  
Dean's eyes don't obey him, drifting shut again before he can catch a glimpse at his boyfriend. "If this is you trying to get me to swallow, Cas," he feebly moans into the pillow, "don't even bother. I ain't doing nothing today." Something has to be wrong with Castiel's DNA because he's all jittery and eager to unpack everything. But Dean can't even seem to lift his head, a sharp pain running down his spine when he dares to circle one shoulder.  
  
Everything aches and throbs nastily as if his entire body was a huge, fat bruise.  
  
"No, Dean, just open your mouth, you won't regret it," Cas pleads and Dean can hear him crouch down beside his half of the bed, which really is the only furniture they'd gotten out of the moving van yesterday afternoon. With a small sigh, Dean's jaw drops open and he allows Castiel to pop in an Aspirin for the headache he's been whining about since yesterday night.  
  
His throat feels sore as he chokes the pill down and rolls over onto his back to sleepily blink up at Cas. "Probably should have listened to you," Dean admits, grasping the other man's hand, his own fingers barely even holding onto Castiel's.  
  
"I told you we should do our unpacking and furnish at least one or two rooms, but no, you had to-"  
  
"Oh God, I know!" he growls, voice more or less succeeding in coming out in once piece.   
  
In the past three years, Dean's and Castiel's relationship has stabilized to the point where both had been sure not even a bombing raid could possibly threaten it and when Sam got into Stanford by getting a scholarship offered, both men had taken the opportunity and left the city that would always be haunted by bad memories for either of them.  
  
At first, they'd contemplated moving to just another city in Kansas, but before the first actual choices had been available, Cas had received a letter from Ashford University asking him very politely to get the fuck there and start working as soon as humanly possible because their former lecturer for Art History has retired. Cas had had a little freak-out and was a second away from jumping into the car and leaving everything behind in just a blink.  
  
Be that as it may, that certain letter is the only reason Dean now finds himself unable to move his flaccid muscles because he's pushed Cas the day before, dragged him out of the moving van and cunningly sweet-talked his boyfriend to inspect each room.  
  
The whole innocently-looking-at-the-empty-new-house-thing had ended with Dean seducing Cas by doing nothing more than spreading his legs once he'd flopped down on his back after making sure the bed looked good.  
  
But if either of them had thought a quickie in their bedroom would satisfy the ebullient rush of pure  _lust_ that kept crashing down on both men that day, they were wrong, and at some point, probably way after midnight, there was no single room left that hadn't been filled with stifled moans.  
  
Dean bent over the counter in the kitchen, which had been inclusive in the prize of the house, Dean riding Castiel in the giant jacuzzi they'd gotten installed in the bathroom. Hell, they'd even managed to fuck in the attic, Dean's back pressed up against the wooden wall, a leg hooked around Cas' waist and his gasps not even entirely coming out anymore.

"I already got the box with everything we need to fix up our closet," Castiel tells him, the fingers of one hand sliding under the covers to gently stroke Dean's side.  
  
Just this one small contact has Dean grunting in discomfort and he rolls his eyes up at the ceiling. "Everything hurts, Cas," he laments, "how are you not sore?" Castiel shrugs apologetically and smiles, "Well, I didn't sprain my whole body yesterday like you did."  
  
In only a matter of seconds, he's climbed into bed next to Dean, assaults his aching shoulder with light pecks of his lips and traces the bruises that have started blossoming like a locket around Dean's neck with his fingertips. "Don't do - Cas, hey, whoa, watch the hand," Dean mutters, tired eyes suddenly wide open when Castiel's hand goes on an exploring mission, even though he surely knows the name of every atom Dean's body consists of.   
  
"It's been quite a surprise to see how bendy you are," Cas chuckles, bit by bit stealing the blanket away from the other man. Dean knew it. He should have kept insisting on a seperate one for himself, but Castiel's fucking hands all over his back when they'd been in that store had made it really hard to stick to his guns.  
  
"I was  _forced_ to," he defends himself, swatting Castiel's fingers away.  
  
"But you love me, otherwise you wouldn't have moved here with me," Castiel states quietly, lips coming to a halt on Dean's own. "You love me, right, Dean? You love me." The blanket isn't even covering Dean's feet anymore and he has to scooch over a few inches, so he can drape the sheets back over himself. "Come on, don't be like that," Castiel complains, "you know you do!"  
  
"Yes, yes, yes, I love you, Cas, I friggin' - oh," Dean trails off, eyes wandering over to the window embedded in the wall of their bedroom.   
  
"Look at that."  
  
And Castiel turns his head to peer back over his own shoulder, a quiet noise falling off his lips as he finds himself looking at what has made Dean stop and stare. "Wow," he smiles, watching the snow flurry outside for a while before he glances back at Dean, whose eyes still haven't lost track of the tiny snowflakes tumbling from a white sky.  
  
"It's magical," Dean mumbles and the corners of his mouth twitch, "it's magical and I'm in love with you."  
  
There are moments in which Dean wishes Cas would have a little more of a common sense and therefore would know that "Then why won't you get out of bed?" is  _not_ a fitting thing to reply with.   
  
"Because," Dean swings his legs off the edge of their bed with a pained groan, "you wrecked me last night, Cas."  
  
Somehow he summons up the energy and willpower to stumble out of the room and into the corridor, which still is embarrassingly empty, and the walls to either side of him are so white, it makes him outright cringe. "Alright, let's build a house!"  
  
In fact, it's Cas who gets most of the work for today done, tightening the screws of various shelves, bookcases and their closet, carrying boxes everywhere and occasionally collapsing in Dean's arms with a tired laugh. Dean helps him as well as his strained body allows and makes sure to give his boyfriend's back the attention it deserves, thumbs finding those two special spots below his shoulder blades.  
  
As they take a brief walk to get sandwiches from the closest bakery, though, the moving van isn't considerably emptier, the space inside still taken up by shit tons of boxes and furniture they have to fix up, books, more boxes and paint for the walls.  
  
Their house is located in a ridiculously friendly neighborhood, every two steps there are people smiling at Dean,  _greeting_ him, and all he wants to do is turn on his heel and  _run_ because no stranger has ever been this nice to him.   
  
Apparently his tension even seeps through the calm mask he shakily had put on the second he left the house by Cas' side because the other man unceremoniously entwines their hands.   
  
"Hey," Dean hisses, staring down at the knot of fingers in panic. "It's fine, Dean, the people in Iowa are more than accepting," Castiel assures him, licking the last crumbs of his food off his fingertips. "Oh, really?" he scoffs. "And why would you be so sure?"   
  
Cas exhales loudly, gesturing over at the other side of the street they're walking down to point at a young lesbian couple making out, tightly pressed against the engine hood of a white pick-up. "Uh," Dean mutters and manages to crack a tiny smile.  
  
Maybe people weren't all that bad after all.  
  
After another few minutes of lazily strolling down the sidewalk, Dean can spot the slated roof with the broad chimney of their house, white walls shining just a little too bright to look nice. "We really should - "  
  
"Yes, I know you want to repaint the walls, Dean, you've been saying that right from the start," Castiel quiets him, arm curling around his waist to give him a loving squeeze.  
  
Dean's lips quirk upwards into a wide grin, eyes blinking up at the sky, which still is enshrouded with white clouds that drop snowflakes every now and then, letting them descend to the already snowcapped ground and cover everything in fluffy white. "You really are something else, Cas," he mutters, not even having to glance over at the other man to notice his lack of words.  
  
"Well," he eventually drawls and nestles his head in the crook of Dean's neck, the breath ghosting over his skin a welcome change to the biting cold of this November day. A gloved hand slips into the pocket of his leather jacket and forces him to walk closer to Castiel - not that he would mind.  
  
"Hey, Dean?" Castiel whispers as both men drag their feet up the stairs to their front door.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Before the other man gets to answer, Dean unlocks the door and gestures him to step in. "I'm afraid you'll have to remind me why we didn't buy a dishwasher."   
  
"Because, first, I don't trust them. Second, I get to teach you how to do the dishes properly," Dean responds, turning his head to wink at Cas. "But what if I don't get it right the first time?" Castiel breathes into the silence that ensheathes them as soon as the door clicks shut behind his back and snakes an arm around Dean to prevent him from walking any further.  
  
"Cas."   
  
He didn't expect Castiel to be strong enough to keep his arms around his torso while he writhes and arcs his back to get away. "Cas, don't, hey, my ribs!" In the end, all Dean is left with is the idea of a stubble burn on the back of his neck, where his asshole of a boyfriend had wanted to press his mouth against for way too long.  
  
"Dean, would you mind helping me with the couch?" a strained voice suddenly shouts from the moving van and as Dean glances out of the house, he can see Cas struggling to pull his couch, which he really didn't want to leave behind, out of the van. "Please, Dean, don't leave me hanging like this."  
  
And, honestly, the only reason Dean tosses his mittens aside after just a few seconds of admiring the way Castiel's coat perfectly attunes to his shoulders is that Cas looks utterly crestfallen in the way he lets go of the couch and sinks down on the curb with a dejected sigh.   
  
"Get up, c'mon, let's do this, okay?" Dean offers, quickly bending on his way to the van and brushing the fingers of one hand affectionately against Cas' shoulder. "Together?" Cas wants to make sure, already rising again. "Yeah," he confirmes, "together."  
  
Dean doesn't know why, but he could swear the couch hasn't been this heavy when they'd carried them out of the living room of Castiel's old house because now it seems to be close to tearing off both his and Cas' arms.  
  
"Oh god, Cas, did you put fucking stones in there or something?" he wheezes, fingers twitching with the urge to simply let go.  
  
But Castiel is too busy trying to inhale at least a few times in the following minutes they spend with finding a way to squeeze themselves and the sofa through the front door without accidentally pulpifying their organs.  
  
And if Dean had thought he'd at least get a kiss or something, boy, was he wrong because Cas demands to keep working, so they'd be able to go to sleep this night without having to think about how incomplete everything is, how imperfect.  
  
"Ah, you know, Cas, we're imperfect, too," Dean attempts to convince his boyfriend to rest a few minutes beside him on the couch, patting the cushions invitingly.   
  
"True," Castiel agrees, "but I love you and that's all that matters."  
  
It has been more than three years now, more than 1000 days, and Dean's heart still feels like it's beating out of his chest at those three certain words. He still wears the same stupid grin whenever Castiel starts getting all cheesy and deep after having just a little too much to drink and draping himself all over Dean, completely spaced out and drawing lazy patterns of symbols on his chest.   
  
Dean is still utterly and irrevocably in love with Castiel.  
  
"Now, stand up and help me with the boxes," his boyfriend orders playfully strictly, making his way to the door once more.   
  
"Aw, Cas, I get all tingly when you take control like that," Dean jibes and follows Cas outside to clear out the van to another insignificant part just to feel helpless considering the amount of things they still have to unpack, fix up and stow away somewhere in the house that all of a sudden feels a little too big.  
  
And while the huge clouds rack south and the snow slowly stops falling, leaving Dean's bare hands frost-shattered behind, both men make more or less a huge show of unpacking their moving van and occasionally carrying each other up the stairs instead of any boxes, which always ends with complaints on Dean's and flustered mumbling on Castiel's side.   
  
_Cas' clothes! (dean, i get to carry these!)_  
  
"Are you being for real, Cas?" Dean snorts and rather carelessly gathers the cardboard box in his arms. "I have seen every single fucking part of you, Cas, so I don't see why-"  
  
"Hello!"  
  
The box slips out of Dean's suddenly very sweaty hands and Castiel's clothes get spread out on the ground. "Oh, shit, shit, oh, uh, hello?" he voices under his breath, hastily kneeling down and hurries to pick up the dropped few shirts, which include two band tees he knows don't belong to Cas but him.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," that voice sounds again and when Dean lifts his head, he finds himself blinking up at a young woman with coal black hair and piercing green eyes. "Jane, uh, I live across the street, sorry, I just guessed I oughta say hey, so here I am."   
  
A hesitant smile makes its way onto Dean's lips and he brushes off his hands before extending one to Jane. "Dean Winchester," he grins, flashing his most appealing smile.  
  
Her eyes get those small crinkles he sometimes sees when Cas finds something amusing and it immediately feels like he'd known her for a long time already.  
  
"Sooo, you and your wife moved here to Clinton?" Jane conversationally asks, leaning to one side to peek over at the ajar front foor curiously. The breath catches in Dean's throat and he stares blankly at the woman in front of him for mere seconds.  
  
"Where is she?"  
  
"Actually-" Dean begins to explain, but - thank God - that's the exact moment Castiel decides to push the door open, a smile so bright it hurts on his beautiful lips, and damn near stumble down the stairs in his attempt to reach his boyfriend as quickly as possible. "Dean! Guess what!" he shouts enthusiastically.  
  
"I don't know, Cas," Dean mutters, eyes flicking back and forth between Castiel and Jane, "what?"  
  
The next thing Dean knows is that there are arms around his neck and lips creeping over his cheek, searching for his own. "Hey," Dean objects and settles his hands on the other man's hips to gently bring a tiny bit of space between their bodies.  
  
"Dean, I found the box with our-"  
  
"Okay, that's enough," Dean declares loudly, angling his head to press an excusing kiss below Castiel's ear. There's only one thing he doesn't want to do right now, and that's turning around. Cas, however, seems to have just then realized that they're not, in fact, alone.  
  
"Hello," he greets rather stiffly, shuffling his feet to offer Jane a hand, "my name is Castiel Novak, it's a - uh - pleasure to meet you." Every last hint of surprise that might have been visible on her features is erased when her fingers touch Castiel's and the way she smiles at the handshake makes Dean's stomach clench in unnecessary jealousy.  
  
"Jane Marson," she introduces herself and holds Cas' hand for just a second too long.   
  
That's it. That's more than Dean can stand and even if she really hasn't done anything, the simple thought that someone might try and steal Cas away from him - No. "So, baby," he speaks, "why don't you, uhm, fix up that chair you've been talking about?"  
  
"What chair?" Cas asks, furrowing his brows. And he's more than entitled to do so since there ain't no chair left to build up nor did Cas ever talk about one. "The  _chair,_ " Dean groans and seemingly playfully slaps his boyfriend's shoulder to shove him off.  
  
"Alright..?"  
  
The concerned-annoyed look doesn't leave Castiels face, not even when he's at the front doorstep and turns around one last time to helplessly mouth something Dean can't lip-read.   
  
"Well, Jane, thanks for coming over, but I really gotta, you know, help him out."  
  
A perfectly fake smile snaps into place and she bats her eyelashes at him, nodding once to let Dean understand that she heard him. "Have a nice day, Dean Winchester." Word for word Dean can feel the muscles in his face tense more until he's pretty sure he doesn't look all that friendly anymore.  
  
He watches her slim figure cross the street and disappear inside the pale-green house he's already beginning to hate. No one, literally no-fucking-one, gets to look at Cas like Jane just did, except for him. No one.  
  
Dean doesn't know why, but there's something burning inside his stomach, melting its way through his skin and errupting the second he slams the front door shut behind him. "Cas!" His voice echoes through rooms and corridors and must have found Castiel's ear at some point because then he hears the muffled reply, "Yes?"  
  
"Where are you?"  
  
"I'm right here, Dean," Cas says, tapping a screwdriver against the doorframe of the entrance hall leading into a living room that gives way to their back porch. Maybe they could have Sammy over in summer and have a barbecue with Jess and him, but now, there are other things on Dean's mind. "Come here," he demands, approaching Castiel with rather stiff steps.  
  
Dean can see a shudder run down Cas' spine at his words, but he starts moving anyway, taking step after step until it becomes unbearable and Dean thinks something along the line of  _screw it,_ stretches out his arms and forces Cas into a hug that ends with a startled gasp as Dean pushes Castiel tightly against the wall.  
  
"Dean?"   
  
"Don't ever,  _ever,_ " Dean whispers, his fingertips roaming all over Cas' cheeks and neck, shoulders and arms, and he forgets instantaneously where he was going with his sentence. "Please, Cas," is what he finally manages to choke out around the sudden lump in his throat.  
  
"I'm here," Castiel promises him and kisses the crown of his head with lips so incredibly gentle, Dean doesn't know how the fuck he ever got so lucky.  
  
"Good, that's - that's good."  
  
For just a few heartbeats, they stay like this. Dean pressing Castiel against the wall beneath the couch, which has a nail scraping along the curve of Cas' neck, but he doesn't complain, he simply slides an arm of his own around Dean to have him a tiny bit closer.  
  
"We're good?" Dean wants to make sure once he pulls away. "Yes, we are. But we're also running out of time and I really would like to get everything put the painting done today," Cas answers, combing his fingers through his messy hair.  
  
"Right," he smiles and they go back to unpacking.  
  
There is no getting distracted this time, Castiel and Dean work quietly and watch their breath leave the other's mouth in hot puffs that are visible in the cool air. The boxes stuffed with clothing get emptied out on the huge double bed they'd built yesterday and the entire set of plates, cups and cutlery Dean had bought while Cas had been wrapping a collection of drawings and pens into newspaper pages is left to spend the night in the sink.  
  
Dean is the first one to stare up at the dark blue night sky and comment on how beautiful the stars look, but when he sees Castiel's worried expression, he stops smiling.  
  
"Dean, the stars - they're not up."  
  
Shaking his head in disbelief, Dean tilts his head back and...sucks in a breath because, shit, Cas is right. He doesn't know what it had been, lack of sleep, sore hands and shoulders or the wish to rest that has made him see literal stars, but it's a valid reason to go to bed.  
  
To  _their_ bed.  
  
  
*  
  
  
"Oh my god, Cas, shut up!" Dean whines and tugs his wooly sweater with a laughable moose knitting pattern on its front back in place.   
  
"I don't see why you dislike Christmas songs," Castiel groans and stands on his toes to hang up a Christmas glitter ball on one of the upper branches. "You need a  _little_ help there?" he teases, popping another piece of gingerbread into his mouth and watching Castiel pull a face and squint up at the tree topper.  
  
"If you would stop picking on me and actually do something instead - No, don't look at me like that, Dean, eating does not count as productive!"  
  
The whole thing actually is Dean's fault since it had been him who's begged Cas - and that in more than just one way - to get a proper Christmas tree. And maybe Cas is a little guilty, too, because he's ever so easily given in and gone over the top with the tree.  
  
But it's their first Christmas together, without Sam, without Michael and Gabriel, who had them over last year. Just them and nothing else.  
  
"Dean!" Cas snaps and waves his arm at him.  
  
"Coming," he grins, taking the huge golden star out of Cas' hands and stretching just the slightest to secure it on the tree topper. "See?" Dean lets his eyes flick down at Castiel, who now looks really pleased with the way the fairy lights are draped and absently plays with a strip of silver lametta. "I like it," Castiel agrees, resting the side of his head on Dean's shoulder.  
  
"Oh no, that's one of those scratchy sweaters," he complains only a blink later. "At least I'm not drowning in my clothes," Dean teases fondly and tugs Castiel forward by the collar of his shirt.  
  
After Cas had started working at Ashton University in November, Dean had found himself obliged to go job-hunting as well and discovered a huge interest in joining the fire department. Of course, he couldn't just start working as a firefighter, so Dean had volunteered at the local fire department for now.  
  
What he didn't preconceive, however, was that doing so would require regular physical training and stupid meetings with his co-workers, who are not only older but also stronger that him. And because Dean didn't want to be considered the loser of the group, he'd started working out.  
  
Twenty miles every morning, regardless the weather. Exercising in the afternoon and another five miles before going to sleep if he felt it, but that usually wasn't the case.  
  
Especially not when Cas would talk him into taking a bath with him.  
  
But all that training had eventually been worth while and that's really the main reason why Castiel adores wearing Dean's shirts more than ever.   
  
"Shut up, Dean," Castiel snarls and pushes at his chest with barely any pressure. There's a tired, little smile dancing across his lips, just for a heartbeat, but Dean can see it. "Hey, Cas," he whispers, blindly reaching behind himself to turn off the lights in the living room they'd set up their Christmas tree in.  
  
"What?"  
  
Dean's left foot finds the button after a second of searching and the fairy lights flash in all sorts of beautiful colors, red and orange and green. "Merry Christmas," he says and leans in to make their foreheads bump together in that stupid happy-movie-couple-way Dean used to hate.  
  
Before Cas answers, he glances over at the LED display of the clock on the bookcase to see whether it's already the 25th. "Merry Christmas, Dean," Castiel murmurs and closes every last bit of distance, slotting their hips together. "Can we-"  
  
"No, Dean."  
  
"But-"  
  
Cas lets out a loud, exhausted sigh. "Dean, no, don't even try and convince me beca- Oh - Dean, no, no, Dean, don't do that. You're being unfair, no, stop, Dean, Dean, I won't - Oh God, are you even listening?" The wrapping paper of the presents Cas had put beneath their tree in advance is shining where lights reflect on the silver and golden applications in form of sleighs and bells. "Dean! We've talked about this - No!"  
  
It's not even one in the morning, but it's still Christmas and Dean has learned to be a real sucker for unwrapping presents, even more so since they come from the two best people in the world - Sam and Cas.  
  
"Please, Cas, let us unpack them now," he breathes, lips making contact with the skin of Castiel's neck on every syllable.  
  
"Fine," comes the gasped out reply, "fine, but don't-"  
  
But Dean has already withdrawn his thigh from in between Cas' legs and slumped down on the ground in front of the couch. "C'mere, Cas, let me be your Santa," he grins and hooks two fingers in Castiel's waistband to force him in a half kneelin, half sitting position.   
  
"You're worse than an infant, Dean!"  
  
Outside, the sky is pitch black and dappled with stars of various sizes, looking like they were shining just for them through the window pointing towards the back porch. The houses in their neighborhood are all decorated with colorful light bulbs, Advent wreaths and have snowmen and snowdogs in their front gardens.   
  
All Dean and Castiel have is a snowangel Dean had convinced Cas to make, which had ended with Castiel shoving a fistful of snow down the back of his shirt and Dean being not quite as amused anymore.   
  
"Here, here, we both got something from Sam and Jess, look," Dean voices under his breath and holds up two similar looking presents wrapped in red-golden striped paper, "I think we got the same thing." Rolling his eyes in a way that has Dean on the verge of reaching over and making Cas lose balance, Castiel takes one present from him and cocks a curious eyebrow.  
  
It's a pair of moose antlers with blinking, small lights on them and a weird sort of ribbon wrapped around each.  
  
Cas seems to find his way more entertaining than Dean does, turning the lights on and off repeatedly and actually standing up to see how they look on him. "How do I look?" he eventually demands to know, standing in front of Dean with a broad grin.  
  
"Ridiculous," Dean scoffs, rising to his knees and drawing Cas in by his hips, "ridiculously gorgeous." The last words are mumbled into the skin of Castiel's wrists, but he's certain the other man can hear what he said.  
  
For a reason Dean does not quite understand, Castiel is pretty insistent about having Dean wear his Christmas moose antlers as well and that's the only thing he's not really cool with. But when Cas asks for just one picture of Dean with that stupid mess on his head and gingerbread in his hand, Dean tosses the present Cas received from Gabriel at him instead.  
  
Michael really always tends to go over the top with his gifts, stressing his wealth even in the way the items, no matter what they are, are wrapped up. Not in the average way, no, the tiny coupons for a trip to California are covered by the thinnest layer of paper Dean has ever seen in his entire life.  
  
"Wow, we should call your brother later on and thank him," Dean marvels, carefully placing the tickets beneath himself.  
  
There's a fire crackling in their chimney, warming the living room with its flames and bathing everything in a very festive light. Castiel just huffs, though, and angrily stares at the pineapples in front of his feet. "My brother really is a despicable human being, I don't see how we're even related."  
  
Dean honestly can't decide what's funnier - the ill-humored noises Castiel emits occasionally or the fact that Gabriel had gone as far as buying Cas fucking  _pineapples for Christmas.  
  
_ And, okay, maybe everything has been all fun and joy and happiness until now, but then, all of a sudden, there are only three more presents below their tree and Dean's heartbeat pace is starting to speed up. He's tried everything he could, but the present he's planned on making for Cas didn't work out the way he wanted it to, so he'd had to extemporize.  
  
"There's two for you and - Hey, this is from Sam," Castiel reads out loud, squinting his eyes at the small nameplate taped to a quadratic present. "From Sammy?" Dean repeats in confusion, leaning forward to take it from his boyfriend. "I bet you it's a friggin' moose sticker, I've had it up to here," he vaguely taps his temple, "with those animal monster creatures."  
  
Castiel re-arranges the tangled mess his and Dean's legs make and relaxes into his side completely. "Mhm, it's not a moose, I can tell you that much."  
  
The small sound the wrapping paper makes as Dean tears it open rips through the cozy silence like a whiplash and then a transparent jewel case falls onto his lap, the disc inside labelled  _I hope you're having a great Christmas! - Sam.  
_  
"You knew about that, Cas?"  
  
"I suggest you just put it in the DVD player, I promise it won't be in vain, Dean," Castiel mutters hesitantly, fingers stroking the other man's side. "What the hell is this?" Dean snaps, but not even the harsh tone he strikes can stop the tingle wandering through his whole body. "All I know is that it had taken Sam a lot of time to finish it, so just watch it, alright, Dean?"  
  
He doesn't know what he's expecting as he pops the disc into the DVD player and watches the tiny blue circle rotate on the screen, telling Cas, who meanwhile has snuggled up on the couch and barely left any space for Dean, that the video is loading.   
  
"Move," Dean commands, slapping his boyfriend's calves, and takes a seat beside him.  
  
Castiel smiles a worried smile before pulling him in close. "Come here," he mumbles affectionately into Dean's shoulder, nosing briefly at the nape of his neck. "I am here, Cas."  
  
_"Dean, are you sure this is how it works?"  
  
_ There it goes. Dean's ability to breathe. Because while he and Cas had been busy bickering playfully, the video has started playing and now the screen shows an unsteady close-up view of green-white fabric and a pair of children's feet beneath it.  
  
_"Did you press the green button?"_ Dean can hear his own ten year-old voice rant, followed by the sound of footsteps on timber piles.  _"Look, Sammy, here's us!"  
  
__Sam grins into the camera, a broad smile that reveals the missing deciduous teeth he's lost when he's been six, and waves with one chubby hand, the other one probably clutching the video recorder tightly. "Dean! Dean!" he squeaks and whips around, their old bedroom passing by in a blur.  
  
_ "Oh my god," Dean breathes, shying away from what's displayed on the large TV screen in front of him.  
  
_"Dean, Dean, look!" Sammy laughs and scrunches up his nose, roaring at the camera like a predator. "Alright, Sammy, you're a lion, I get it," he says. There's a brief moment of shakiness in the record before the picture only shows Dean, pale, freckled face staring at the lens. "Give it back, Dean!"  
  
_ All Dean can do is shake his head in disbelief, nails biting into the back of Castiel's hand, and suck in a suprised breath as the scene changes.  
  
_Sam is eight years old, confidently smiling at the camera and apparently standing outside their house. "Hello, Dean, you're in school right now, but the weather is really great and I found this really," his little brother stoops to lift up a pebble stone next to his cheek, "awesome stone. If you look closely, you can see it looks like a tree."  
  
_ "Well, that - that's really not a tree," Dean whispers, hastily scrubbing his hands across his face and pressing one palm over his lips, but it's already too late. His eyes have stared burning the second Sam's young face had appeared on the screen for the first time.  
  
_"Dean is carrying me!" Sam suddenly yells, small face all red and obviously superheated if the layer of sweat below his hairline is anything to give by. A loud squeal sounds when the camera veers around and shows the back of Dean's head.  
  
__They, or more specifically Dean, are trudging up the stairs to their rooms, Sam's ankles locked around his big brother's throat, who's made sure to hold them in a viselike grip, so Sammy wouldn't fall. "Hey, Dean!" And he turns around.  
  
_ This time it's Castiel who can't oppress a shocked gasp in time. He swallows thickly around something probably very heavy in his mouth and kisses the side of Dean's face. "I'm so,  _so_ sorry, Dean," he stutters insecurely, eyes sweeping up at the other man's face, who'd stiffened palpably in his arms.  
  
"Yeah," he nods, "me, too."  
  
_The bruise is huge, extending from Dean's left temple to the ala of his nose, and swollen, already starting to change its color from bluish to a more or less kelly green. "Having fun there, buddy?" he laughs, pained smile nearly making his twitching lips split. "Yeeeeeees!"  
  
_ It clicks and the video skips to the next part, where Sam is showing the camera that he's learned to cast a somersault, and then to a short clip of Dean chasing after him.   
  
Castiel has gone completely silent beside him, only squeezing Dean's hand in his from time to time, and Dean himself is trying to convince himself that those are not tears on his cheeks. The video in its entirety is not too long, barely more than 15 minutes, but when the last clip starts, Dean is an internal mess.  
  
_"Hey, Dean," Sam, a grown-up Sam with ridiculously fluffy hair, speaks into the camera, showing his dimples as he smiles. "I assume you're at home right now, maybe on a couch or in bed, or wherever, really. And maybe - Cas, if you're watching this, I just want you to know that you're family! - maybe Cas is with you and I hope you're happy, Dean, I really do. Because if anyone deserves to be happy...then that's you. My whole life you've been there for me and protected me and even in the time we lived at Cas' place I could tell something about you was changing. In a good way."  
  
_ For the following two minutes, Dean simply listens to his little brother talk about emotions and love and future and - Jesus fucking Christ - adoption and marriage, but eventually, he ends his speech with,  _"If you delete this, I will stab you, jerk."  
  
_ With a shaking breath leaving his lips, Dean buries his face in his hands and attempts to get at least parts of his composure back, wriggling away from Castiel's calming hand on his shoulder. "Pretty intense," he mutters as an excuse and presses the red button on the remote.  
  
"I know," Cas sighs and despite Dean's demur, he pulls him flush against his side, "I know, Dean."  
  
And the familiar, hushed tone of Cas' voice right beneath his ear makes everything a little better. "Thanks, Cas." There's no need to explain that any further, Dean knows that Cas knows what he's meant.  
  
"Ah, sorry, right, right!"  
  
Quickly scrambling to sit down on the floor once more, Dean pushes Castiel's arms away from his chest and waves a rather flat present at his boyfriend before tossing another log of wood into the fireplace, the flames immediately starting to embrace the wood and blackening the light-brown.  
  
"For me?" Cas asks, awestruck like a kid that gets to see his new bike for the first time.  
  
"Yeah, just for you," Dean confirmes and awkwardly keeps standing next to the chimney, sucking his lip into his mouth to hide his anxiety. He's about 100 percent sure that at first glance, Cas' grin will turn into a grimace of hidden disappointment, but only until-  
  
"Wow."  
  
As Dean opens his eyes, which he'd screwed shut to avoid the hurt expression, he finds himself looking at a totally pleased Castiel, running his slender fingers over the smooth, black leather of the briefcase atop his knees.  
  
This is not going the way Dean had planned.  
  
"Because you're teaching and stuff and - and you need supplies, you know?" Dean stammers, nodding allusively at the two silver buckles. "Yes, I already thought that my new job was the reason you bought it, thank you," Cas nods and smiles this stupid, genuine grin of his.  
  
"Yeah,  _yeeeah,_ and you need  _supplies,_ Cas," he stresses, coughing ostentatiously.   
  
"Yes, and now I have something to carry them."  
  
Rolling his eyes, Dean collapses beside his boyfriend, snatching the briefcase out of his hands unceremoniously and tapping the buckles on its front. "And where do supplies go?"  
  
That's when a lever is thrown inside Cas and he understands, eyes sparkling with excitement as he makes the buckles click and opens the briefcase.   
  
Warm fingers brush Dean's shoulder and then he's forced forwards, Castiel's hand on the back of his neck, and a grateful mouth finds his lips. "It's beautiful," Castiel whispers pretty much against his teeth, tongue briefly darting out to tease at the other man's lower lip, but over time Dean has learned to anticipate his boyfriend's actions.  
  
And therefore it's Castiel blushing bashfully as Dean's hands frame his face, tilt his head back and he finds himself being kissed until he can't think straight anymore.  
  
"Why an angel, Dean?" Castiel asks after a few seconds of keeping his eyes closed.  
  
Leaning back onto his hands, Dean peers up at the golden Christmas star atop their tree. "I, uhm," he starts confessing, rubbing his neck, "googled your name to see if it has a meaning and - tada - angel of Thursday." But the sardonic laugh Dean had planned on fails to appear, in fact, Castiel only takes the small, self-made keychain out of the briefcase and watches in awe how the lights reflect on the differently colored metal parts.  
  
"I love it," he states before glancing over at Dean, "and I love you."  
  
"Love you too, angel," Dean chuckles and allows Castiel to press more small kisses to his lips.   
  
Christmas has never meant something special to Dean, it was just another crappy day in another crappy year and he really couldn't care less about fucking candy canes dangling from branches or wrapping paper and bows of gift ribbon.  
  
But it's a whole lot different now.  
  
The fingers in between his own are new, the exchanged kisses throughout opening presents in no hurry and the mess Castiel likes to call his hair graced with blinking moose antlers. Everything's new and different and it's so  _good.  
  
_ "Dean, I would like to hand you my present now," Castiel coaxes, shoving a rectangular, wrapped up thing towards his thigh.  
  
"It's not like a dildo, right? Because remember I threw Gabriel's away, too," Dean says jocularly, untying the string holding everything together. "No, it's not," Cas answers sternly, frowning.  
  
Just when Dean is about to acknowledge his boyfriend with a pointed look, the plain silver paper glides to the floor and the words get stuck in his throat, air not managing to get out around the blockade of syllables. "That's - that's us."  
  
"Yes."  
  
The photo album is large, the outlines of a few pages slightly corrugated from what must be glue, Dean assumes, and stuffed full. Taped to the front of the board is a picture of Castiel and Dean wearing sunglasses, Dean in an apron and holding a spatula, whereas Cas is sipping from the drink in his hand. It's the picture Gabriel had taken that one time they'd been over for barbecue last summer.  
  
"Are these - did you," Dean searches for words, but none will come, so he slowly flips to the first page.   
  
_I love your smile.  
  
_ Beneath the few words written in white permanent marker are snapshots of Dean laughing directly into the camera, grinning at something that's not shown in the picture or simply a selfie, in which both Cas and him are smiling.   
  
_I love your eyes.  
  
_ The terrible close-up of his eyebrows and the half of green, wide eyes.  
  
_I love the way you dance.  
  
_ "Cas, what the hell? You freaking backstabbed me!" Dean exclaims, jabbing his fingertip at the pictures of him throwing his arms in the air, swaying his hips to the music he still can hear and leaning in to kiss Castiel in the last one. "I didn't think you'd remember that night," Cas admits, shrugging casually.  
  
"Just because I've been a little tipsy, doesn't mean I have amnesia, Cas," he snarls, shoulder bumping into the other man's.  
  
_I love watching you sleep.  
  
_ An enlarged view of his own closed eyes, parted lips and tousled hair is glaring at Dean from the page. "Did you seriously mug me, Cas? While I was sleeping?" He doesn't even wait for an answer, simply thumbs through the following pages.  
  
_I love traveling with you.  
  
I love your hands.  
  
I love making you happy.  
  
I love your voice.  
  
I love your freckles.  
  
I love watching you cook.  
  
I love your ass.  
  
_ "When did you even have the time to take those?" Dean snorts, cocking an eyebrow at Cas, who has started chuckling in amusement, third glass of eggnog shaking in his hand.   
  
The two photographs displayed on this page show him bent over baby's engine hood, shirt rode up his back and the denim of his jeans stretching over the curve of his ass. "I always have time for taking pictures," Castiel simply claims and goes back to taking small sips from his glass.  
  
On the last page is the snapshot Michael must have taken last Christmas since Castiel is wearing a stupid Santa hat. Dean wasn't even informed this photograph existed. All one can see in it is Cas holding Dean's chin in place and kissing him underneath the mistletoe Gabriel had hung up above the entrance door of Michael's house. The white bobble of Cas' hat is covering their mouths, but the crinkles around Castiel's closed eyes say all there is to say.  
  
_I love you.  
  
_ "This," Dean coughs, carefully closing the photo album, "is the cheesiest and most beautiful thing someone has ever made me a present of."  
  
"I'm glad you like it," Cas smiles.  
  
Dean raises both eyebrows simultaneously and tilts his head. "Don't expect me to turn into one of those dudes that leave sticky notes on the fridge before going to work or something, though," he warns, watching the shadows the guttering flames cast on Castiel's face.   
  
"Of course not."  
  
"Damn right, I mean, come on," Dean smirks, inching closer to the other man's warmth, "I save people." A bit closer. "I put out fires." And closer. "I'm a freaking badass."   
  
Cas takes him by surprise, sneakily licking his way into his mouth and far too soon fisting one hand in Dean's hair. The noise making its way out of Dean's throat dies somewhere between his tongue and Castiel's, which keep fighting for dominance in this kiss.  
  
How his attempted display of control gets him pushed down by his shoulders until all he can do is twist his wrists that Cas pins down above his head, Dean doesn't quite understand.   
  
Something is different about tonight, maybe it's the scent of vanilla and cinammon hanging heavily in the air, maybe it's the fire in the chimney and maybe it's the simple fact that all of a sudden, Castiel straddles him, legs bracketing his waist tightly, and trails biting kiss all over his jaw.  
  
"Cas?"  
  
"Merry Christmas," is all he gets before Cas releases his wrists, wonderful fingers traveling all the way down to his stomach. "Merry - Jesus, Cas - Christmas," Dean gasps, hips shooting upwards at the first hint of friction on his cock. It feels like heaven, the tingle running through every nerve his body consists of as Castiel takes off his moose-sweater and tosses it onto the couch.  
  
"Maybe we should move to-" Dean begins, tipping his head back to give his boyfriend better access to his throat.  
  
"No."  
  
The slow grinding of Castiel's hips into his, while their hands peel each other's clothes off with a steadiness they developed in the past months, makes Dean's breath come out a little shakily. "You know that I love you, right?" Castiel wants to know, closing his lips around his nipple and sucking the small nub into his mouth. "Ye-ah, yeah," Dean hisses, arching his back off the carpet.  
  
"Good."  
  
Castiel appears to have decided to take his dear time, toying with Dean's nipples until they're stiff and throbbing, rocking his by now bare hips harder. His elegant hands on his chest makes it so much harder for Dean to keep breathing, which has been a severe problem right from the start considering Castiel on top of him, eyes fluttering shut every now and then.  
  
And then Cas takes his hand and slowly guides it down to where their cocks have slid together, Dean's own already leaking glistening precome that now trickles down the tip over the vein on its underside. They wrap their entwined hands around aching flesh and give a few good strokes that make Castiel's head drop back.  
  
For some reason, Cas' cheeks are flushed, red extending down his neck and chest, and he seems to be actually insecure when he shifts his weight to snatch his pants from the couch.  
  
"Cas?"  
  
Something about the way Castiel determinedly reaches into the pocket with one hand and hesitates to withdraw it makes Dean uncomfortable, nervous. "I was thinking, well, maybe we could," Castiel speaks quietly, eyes permanently fixed on the bottle of lube in his trembling hands, "uh."  
  
The breath starts hitching in Dean's throat and he has to prop himself up on his elbows to look properly at his boyfriend. "Would - I mean," Cas shrugs, "could you, what I'm trying to say-"  
  
Cas' legs tighten around Dean's hips, knees digging into the space above his pelvis, and when he stares up into the blue of Castiel's eyes, Dean finds himself amazed by the way the flames illuminate all the right spaces of his face, his red-bitten lips and the sharp curve of his jaw, leaving his sparkling eyes behind in a shadowed area.  
  
But he's immediately distracted when Cas uncaps the lube and squirts a few drops onto Dean's fingertips he didn't even realized he's offered.   
  
"Cas, I never - I don't know," Dean chokes out, absently rubbing his thumb and index finger against one another.  
  
"You know how to do it, I trust you, Dean," Castiel attempts to calm him, dipping his head and starting to kiss Dean. It's passionate and maybe a little desperate, but Dean would never blame him, not in a quadrillion years because he full well can imagine how Cas is feeling.  
  
And, okay, sure, he's thought about topping, that's not it, he even has jerked off to fantasies of Cas on his back and fisting the sheets, but at the end of the day, Dean has always been more than happy with being the one at the receiving end.   
  
"Cas, I really don't know, but..." Dean starts confessing, slicked up fingers held up in the space between Castiel's and his chest.   
  
For just a few seconds, neither of them dares to speak up and they awkwardly study the other's features, Castiel still straddling Dean's waist and Dean hooking one arm around Cas' middle to keep him close.  
  
"Please," Cas finally asks and while Dean is focussing on the kisses his boyfriend plasters his lips with, he coats his own fingers in lube.  
  
The first, small gasp brushing Dean's ear doesn't make it all the way to his brain, but when Castiel pulls away to suck in a sharp breath and Dean's gaze is drawn down to where one slim finger is unsteadily pumping in and out of Cas, he's overwhelmed by a sudden urge to replace that finger with his own.  
  
"Oh holy Jesus, Cas, let - let me," he groans, sitting up entirely.  
  
Castiel's lips are parting around shallow intakes of breath, eyes wide, as if he couldn't think of a better feeling. And then Cas' fingers curl around Dean's wrist and guide it down between his legs, Dean's index and middle finger accidentally prodding his perineum. "Oh," Cas makes, a soft, little noise that might just have become Dean's most favorite sound in the world, right next to his "I love you"s.  
  
"Do that, please, do that again," Cas pleads, rising slightly on his knees and burying his face in Dean's neck, stubble scraping over his collarbone.   
  
While Dean obeys and slowly lets two fingers press up against the lightly slippery skin, but with a little more pressure this time, Castiel's whole body spasms, lips ceasing to move. "This okay?" Dean wants to make sure and is just about to pull his hand away when he can feel the other man nod.  
  
"Yes."  
  
His voice is barely more than a whisper, coming out slightly broken, but the way Cas' hips search for his hand to press into encourages Dean, and by the time he can bring himself to slide one finger inside Castiel, his boyfriend is a shaking mess.  
  
There are arms around his shoulders, a mouth on his neck and legs clamping around his hips, but all that seems to evaporate when he realizes that,  _What the fuck am I doing? Is this okay? Does he like this? Where do I put my other hand? How does Cas do that?,_ the tightness around his finger actually, for real, is Castiel.   
  
It's like nothing Dean has ever felt before, the clenching muscles around him, the nails digging into his back and the slowly rocking hips.  
  
Like everything about this Christmas, it's new.  
  
It takes Dean a few minutes and coaxing from Cas' side to add a second finger, but when he does and Castiel's hips snap down and he lets out one of those rare, breathless moans, Dean nearly regrets not having done it earlier. "Crook them, Dean, just slightly," Cas suddenly breathes, raising one hand and making two fingers form an arch.   
  
The second Dean crooks his fingers inside the velvety heat of Cas' channel, his fingertips brush over a small bump in the wall and Cas drags his nails down his back. "More," he moans, his breath ghosting down Dean's chest.  
  
"Are you sure? Is this okay?"  
  
"Yes," Cas assures him, obviously annoyed by Dean's constant worry.  
  
Just to avoid every risk of hurting Cas, Dean pulls his fingers out, peppering Castiel's, who grunts unhappily at the sudden emptiness and nearly instantaneously starts wriggling his hips, neck with kisses to give him something to focus on while he squirts more lube onto his fingers.  
  
"Dean."  
  
"Hold your horses, man," Dean chides softly and pushes two fingers back inside, lube oozing all over the carpet. "Didn't we agree on no- please, oh, yes."  
  
Castiel's breath is doing all sorts of funny things as Dean somehow squeezes in a third finger and hesitantly scissors him open, hitching and faltering and every so often stopping entirely for mere seconds. And throughout the whole process of making Cas moan by preparing him thoroughly, all Dean can think is  _How the fuck will my dick fit? How the fuck will my dick fit?_ because it's so unbearably tight around his fingers already, he hardly can imagine Castiel taking his entire length.  
  
_And anyway, where does my second hand go?  
  
_ But Cas all of a sudden shifts his weight and Dean's hands barely even have the time to hold onto the other man's shoulders before his back is flat against the carpet. "Cas, just one second," Dean mutters, fingers somehow no longer inside Cas, but on his hip.  
  
"What?" Castiel whines, the white of his teeth shining brightly when he leans in. "Have you ever even - Can you stop for a second, I'm being serious - did you ever do this?"  
  
"Twice," comes the reply, growled against the sensitive spot right below Dean's chin and okay, wow, now it's really Cas' own fault.  
  
Tightening his fingers on Castiel's hipbones, Dean urges him forwards and then it's - it's fucking incomparable.  
  
The lube-slick skin right against the tip of his cock as it catches at Cas' entrance, the shocked noise falling from Castiel's lips and the nails digging into his pectoral muscles. And there's the way it feels because this is more intimate for Dean than anything ever has been before and maybe he has the weird, brief moment of wanting to suck his stomach in just a little, but Cas is looking at him like he was the most special thing on earth and - fuck.  
  
"Cas," suddenly spills from Dean's own lips and he's so surprised by his boyfriend pressing that gorgeous ass down and taking him in with such beautiful noises, he adds pressure to his hips by accident. He swears, he didn't want it.  
  
"Dean, please slower," Cas pants, a single muscle in his jaw twitching.  
  
There is not much Dean can do in his current position, all flat on his back, knees drawn up to steady Castiel's back and his cock is buried to like an inch inside Cas.  
  
"Sorry," he slurs, too stunned by the view Castiel makes like this to care about whether he's being understood or not.  
  
Slowly, ever so fucking excruciatingly slowly, Cas proceeds to sink down on him, drawing moans from Dean as if they were simple threads he'd have to pull, hips circling like a spool to collect all those threads.

And when Castiel's head finally comes to rest on Dean's heaving chest for a few seconds of hard breathing, Dean is positive that nothing _ever_ could feel as good as this here, right now, does. Especially not with the flickering flames casting those shadows on Cas' body, his own body, their united bodies.  
  
"You're so," Dean whispers, interlocking his fingers behind Cas' neck to place a kiss at least somewhere near his lips, "so beautiful."  
  
Castiel's hands keep roaming all over his chest, trying to gain a bit of stability.  
  
Dean lightly taps Cas' hip and he starts lifting himself up on his knees, back an illuminated arc and lips sealed to Dean's, before sinking back down on his boyfriend's cock. "This is, oh, so," Cas babbles, setting up a slow and gentle pace of moving and stopping to catch his breath.  
  
"I know."  
  
Every downwards roll of Castiel's pelvis has Dean's right hand clenching around the fringes of the carpet, but he really is incapable of doing anything because even if Cas is not heavy, with his full weight on Dean's lower half, there's no chance for him to thrust up his hips.  
  
"Lean back a little," Dean suggests, the thumb of his left hand tracing Cas' lower lip, "see how that feels."  
  
A loud outcry sending an incredibly strong wave of pleasure through Dean follows his command and Cas seizes up, hands flying to Dean's knees and he leans back further. The noises he makes, God, desperate, breathy gasps and helpless moans as the tip of Dean's cock inside him drags over his prostate, add to the pressing feeling inside Dean's groin, hot and too soon.  
  
"Cas, slow down just - a second," he begs, the fingers of his restless right hand eventually closing around something, anything, doesn't matter what it is as long as Dean can hold onto that.  
  
Castiel, however, appears to have just then realized that despite their swapped positions he's still the one in control and totally makes use of that newfound knowledge. His hips speed up, slamming down onto Dean the one second just to barely even more the next one, until Dean tangles his fingers in that messy dark hair and tugs.  
  
And that really is all it takes for Cas to arc his back, screw his eyes shut and come with a hoarse shout over his chest, a few drops of white dappling the skin around his lips.  
  
The muscles around Dean's twitching cock tighten, squeeze and suck all at the same time and Dean is sure his heart might just stop then.  
  
But that's not what drags him over the edge, it's the way Cas forces his post-orgasm-heavy eyelids open with a huge effort and the gasped out, small "Dean" that makes the item in his palm break, the fairy lights on the Christmas tree burst and send sparks everywhere and Dean himself spill his load into Castiel, who's so tight around him, he actually can feel his come flooding the other man's insides.  
  
It really is somewhat magical, the dancing snowflakes outside, the slow burn of their fire and Cas collapsing on his chest.   
  
"I'm in love with you, you know?"  
  
Dean can't say it back, not with his mouth suddenly covered by the lips he'll never be able to stop dreaming of.  
  
  
  
Later that night when Dean's head is tucked up under Castiel's chin and the blanket ensheathes them like a cocoon of safety and he starts mumbling all sorts of dirty things into his boyfriend's ear, Cas suddenly pushes Dean off the edge of their bed.  
  
"You can go sleep on the couch," he rolls his eyes, pulling the blanket away from Dean's trembling limbs.   
  
"Cas, you asshole, you can't do that, only married couples do that shit," he huffs, grabbing the seam of the covers, "which we're not."  
  
His boyfriend just grins and lifts the sheets for him to crawl back under. "Yet."  
  
  
*  
  
  
Sometimes Cas is afraid he should have thought twice about it.  
  
The auditorium seems to creep in on him, row after row of faces he barely even remembers a single name of staring down at him with that unvarying facial expression.  
  
"Is there anyone capable of telling me why Rembrandt chose to paint 'The Night Watch' in such dim colors instead of the bright ones that were discovered after cleaning the painting?"  
  
Letting his eyes slowly skim the crowd of curious faces in front of him, Castiel takes a step back.  
  
"No one?"  
  
Unanimous, small head-shaking.  
  
"That was the one thing I asked for," he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, "was that really too much?" It's not like his job itself is frustrating, it's the fact that none of his students seems to be taking him for serious and that really has started preying on Castiel's mind. A stupid voice in the back of his head telling him he'll never earn anyone's respect if he keeps being the way he is.  
  
Talking to Dean about it doesn't help because even if his boyfriend can distract him for a while, he can't take away that sick feeling rushing through his veins whenever he'd enter the lecture hall and face those kids.  
  
"Alright," Castiel surrenders, fixing his eyes on a space above everyone's heads, and falls into a monologue about Rembrandt and his autobiography.  
  
"That's it for today," he dismisses everyone after reciting the last paragraph of what's written down on his draft for this lecture, which he'd stuffed somewhere in his briefcase the evening before.  
  
He usually stays up too late for Dean's liking and tends to fall asleep on the couch, papers spread out everywhere, but the next morning they're always neatly stacked beside his briefcase and Dean's jacket is missing from the coatrack beside the front door.   
  
Dean has kept his promise, however, and never even once has left any sort of note.  
  
With an exhausted sigh, Castiel secludes himself to the nasty office he's been forced to share with Professor Bradbury, a redhaired woman with all kinds of weird interests.  
  
"Peace, Novak!" she grins as he closes the door behind his back and does that weird finger-spreading thing she always does. Cas is pretty sure she at some point had explained its meaning. "Hello, Charlie," he grumbles, angrily dropping the briefcase onto the hard wood of his desk.  
  
"Some dragon steal your princess?" she wonders, shaking her hair out of her forehead. There they are again, the weird references to fairy tales and all that. "No," Castiel flicks the buckles open, "but none of my students seem to respect me."   
  
"That's not true," Charlie objects and presses a few buttons on the gameboy in her hands.  
  
Even in her free time between two lectures, Engineering and Computer Technology - who would've thought -, she enjoys keeping herself busy with weird games Castiel doesn't understand the plot of. "Oh really? And why would you say that?"  
  
"Well, this boy kept asking for you while you had your lecture at AH147," she winks.  
  
Castiel's attention immediately is at 100 percent and his head whips up. "What boy?" he wants to know, fingers resting on the edge of his briefcase now. "Can't say," Charlie mutters, "tall, green eyes, Led Zeppelin shirt and-"  
  
"Freckles? Light-brown hair? Sort of bowlegs? And - and those stupid, ragged boots?" Castiel adds and notices with embarrassment his heartbeat increasing.  
  
"No," she says slowly, cocking an eyebrow, "black hair, sneakers and no freckles."  
  
Stupid. It's been really stupid of Cas to think Dean would come over to Ashton University just to see him, Dean is not the kind of person to do that. He loves him, yes, Castiel is sure about that, Dean tells him every day after all, but he's not one of those guys that talk about feelings all that often.  
  
"Right," Castiel nods stiffly and feels for his phone underneath the tons of papers and files.  
  
Maybe Dean has at least sent him a text.   
  
Coming to think about, though, Castiel shouldn't be complaining about Dean not visiting him at work, he's busy himself and still finds the time to collect Cas' stuff from all across their house every evening and put everything in his briefcase.   
  
As Cas pulls his hand out, phone clutched tightly, his breathing stops for like half a second and Charlie eyes him over suspiciously from behind her gameboy.   
  
There's a hint of green paper peeking out between his fingers, clinging to his phone's screen.  
  
_Seems like you really make me give up on all my resolutions, Cas.  
  
_ A wide grin that damn near makes him pull a muscle in his cheek spreads across his lips and Castiel's stomach flutters with those well-known butterflies he still gets.  
  
He can't wait to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it, the end. And I honestly have no idea how to feel about it, I'm kind of proud that I actually managed to finish this, but I also wanna cry because, y'know, this fic really grew to me. I thank y'all so much for sticking with me throughout everything and never failing to encourage me! KUDOS TO YOU <3


End file.
